Chapter 4: Memories (Third Revision)

Bruce stood at the living room doorway, watching the sunlight slant across the hallway onto the sofa.

Jack Napier leaned against the armrest, a blanket draped over him, his hair disheveled. The wound on his forehead had been treated, and his neck and hands were bandaged. He lowered his head to flip through a magazine, not turning the pages, seemingly just to distract himself.

He noticed Bruce coming out and looked up—a fleeting flash of nervousness in his eyes.

"Bruce," he said, his voice a little weak. "Um... would you like to talk to me?"

This was the first time Bruce had seen the Joker in this state.

He seemed cautious, without any hint of madness.

Perhaps this was all part of a disguise, the Joker setting up a terrifying "game."

Regardless... he had to find out.

Bruce made his intentions known with his actions, taking a seat in a chair not far from the sofa.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I just got into a fight with a gorilla." Jack pointed at his face, trying to make a joke. "Enjoying Batman's VIP criminal service? Honestly, it was a terrible experience."

The information in this sentence hit Bruce hard.

...He knew he was Batman.

Bruce's expression did not change, but his heart beat slightly faster.

Jack paused and sighed softly: "I really don't understand... why you look at me like that. Did you have a nightmare? Or some... stress reaction?"

Bruce pondered for two seconds and whispered:

"I... couldn't tell the difference between dreams and reality for a moment, I'm sorry."

Jack was slightly startled and asked:

"What was I like in the dream?"

"Your hair turned green, your skin became wrinkled, and your lipstick was almost applied to your ears." Bruce stared at Jack, capturing every subtle reaction of his, "You behaved weirdly, acted crazy, and laughed all the time." "

Well, it sounds pretty bad," Jack laughed dryly, he shifted his gaze to the magazine in his hand, his tone cautious: "I think I can get used to these things, you know, there have been a few times before... when you are under too much pressure, you will say some strange things. Last time you ran to the Batcave and locked yourself up for two days, and the first thing you said when you came back was to ask me, 'Am I your imagination?'"

Bruce frowned and said calmly:

"Have I asked this kind of question?"

"More than once," Jack shrugged. "You're always skeptical of everything... but I always think you're too exhausted."

Bruce didn't respond, but a chill rose in his heart.

It seemed the world had prepared a reasonable past for his current situation.

He shifted his perspective:

"So how long have we been together?"

"Huh?" Jack tilted his head, seemingly unresponsive.

"How long have we been... dating?"

Jack looked at him intently.

"Two years and three months," he said without hesitation. "The first time I met you was when you came to my show, and you took the initiative to give me your contact information. Later, after more dates, you accepted my request... I still remember us in the elevator of Wayne Tower."

"You have a good memory," Bruce commented.

"I won't forget these memorable moments," Jack said, looking at him fondly. "I know you remember too... Hey, we celebrate our anniversary every month. Where should we go for our next anniversary? I know you've always wanted to go on vacation to Edinburgh with me. How about we invite your family along this time?"

Bruce was silent for a moment, then spoke:

"I'm sorry I can't be with you for your anniversary this month."

Jack was stunned.

"...Maybe it was an accident, I suddenly don't remember anything about our time together. I don't know what's going on, but when I wake up in the morning I only remember you in my dreams. I don't remember the time I spent with you, nor do I remember these photos, the trips, the conversations... All those things you said, in my mind... don't exist."

He raised his eyes, trying to catch Jack's reaction.

Jack sat there blankly, letting those words really sink into his heart.

After a few seconds, he nodded slowly.

"...Thank you for telling me."

His voice was so soft that it was almost inaudible, "I don't know how to help you, but if you're willing - I can tell you all about it again."

Bruce didn't respond immediately.

"I can tell you all about it again." Jack repeated softly again.

Bruce didn't say "OK", but nodded slowly, as if tacitly agreeing to the start of a dangerous experiment.

Jack tried to sit closer, his movements slow and careful.

"Remember the first time we met?" he said, forcing himself to cheer up. "You were wearing a three-piece dark grey suit, your hair gelled, like you could have been filming a city promotional video. But the play was already halfway through when you arrived at the theatre, so not many people noticed you."

Bruce listened quietly, his eyes scanning the furnishings behind the sofa, the photos, decorations, and cups on the wall...

"The play was 'Hamlet,' and you were sitting in the last row. I always thought you were asleep because you were so quiet." Jack shrugged. "Until after it was over, you came backstage and asked me what I thought of the play. I still remember the question you asked me - 'Mr. Star, do you think the prince went mad?'"

"What did you say?"

"I replied that I thought he was just a poor man who couldn't accept reality."

"Very pertinent."

"Yeah, that's what you answered back then."

Bruce was speechless for a moment.

He tried to read a hint of pretense on Jack's face. But Jack's eyes were affectionate, even... with a certain tenderness that "we meet again."

"You later told me," Jack continued, "that you'd actually been to three shows in a row. It's just that you didn't dare come to me the first two times because you said you weren't good at... expressing interest in men."

Bruce was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked:

"Did our relationship become public?"

Jack was stunned, then smiled.

"Of course, Bruce, you insisted on having me appear in your interview that time."

"Me?"

"You took the initiative and I was surprised at the time." He recalled, "The host asked you, 'If Jack were a criminal in Gotham, would you still love him?' You refused to answer the question."

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds like me."

"Yes, but it embarrassed me, so we had a fight after it was over."

"You didn't eat dinner that day and stayed in the study upstairs. I went to find you and you said...you didn't want your feelings to become prey to public opinion."

Bruce's eyes moved slightly.

If all this was fabricated -

"Later you said," Jack looked at him and whispered, "If I can't protect you, then I don't deserve to have you."

Bruce was stunned.

It sounded like the truth, he thought.

"Do you still want to hear it? I can continue, or...you can ask me anything."

Bruce's tone was slightly apologetic, and he said calmly:

"No need, I'm sorry that I forgot these things..."

- How could I remember something that doesn't exist?

Jack looked at him, the corners of his mouth slowly raised, but his eyes were a little red.

"It doesn't matter, we can start again."