Don't worry guys, we'll be getting a real kiss soon :)

Can't lie I didn't proofread lol so comment if you see any typos <3

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The cool air of the Gotham docks clung to Liam as he moved in the shadows. His cape brushed silently against the crates stacked along the perimeter, his footsteps purposeful. The meeting with Commissioner Gordon, head of the SWAT team and Detective Mallory had ended minutes earlier and everyone was in their designated places to bring down The Joker for good. The clock ticked toward 11:30 pm and every instinct screamed for vigilance.

Batman pressed a gloved hand against the comm at his ear. "Still nothing," he murmured.

Niall's calm voice swiftly responded, "Keep an eye on your surroundings. If Joker's planning something, it won't be obvious."

Liam's lips twitched faintly in agreement. But then, a sound—a faint scuff of boots—drew his attention.

He spun too late.

An impact hit him square in the chest—a sharp blast of gas dispersing as he instinctively held his breath. Grappling wires snared his wrists and yanked him backwards, toppling him to the ground.

Through the haze of smoke, figures loomed. Joker's henchmen, faces obscured by masks and grins that mirrored their master's madness.

Liam twisted against the bindings, his strength pulling him halfway upright before the second canister was thrown. This time, the gas seeped deeper into his lungs. The edges of his vision blurred and his movements grew sluggish.

He fell back.

"Lights out, Batman," one of them jeered before everything went dark.

***

The sharp smell of oil and concrete hit Liam like a slap when his senses began to return. Cold metal against his wrists, stiffness in his shoulders—he was bound to a chair.

"Rise and shine," came the voice, lilting and twisted with mockery.

Liam's eyes fluttered open, blurry images sharpening into Harry's painted smile. The Joker leaned forward, his green eyes glittering under the dim overhead bulb.

"Oh, Batsy, what took you so long?"

Liam's jaw tensed. "Joker." His voice was hoarse but steady. "What do you want?"

Joker's grin widened, his face mere inches away now. "Oh, not much," he drawled. "Just a fun little wager I'm cooking up. You'll love it, I promise—it's theatrical!" He gestured wildly before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "What do you think your dear Robin would pick? Hmm?"

Liam's heart lurched.

Harry's smile sharpened. "Here's the game, Bats. His loyalty? Or his morality?" He leaned back lazily, tilting his head to study Liam. "Your life? Or his?"

"What are you talking about?" Liam demanded, pulling at the restraints.

Joker rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't pretend, Batman. We both know what this is. Your goodie-two-shoes protege? The one whispering in shadows about saving Gotham while pretending to work for me? He's split. Torn. And tonight... I fix that."

Liam surged forward, the chair dragging slightly, but the bonds held tight. "You won't break him," he snapped.

Joker's laughter echoed in the space, sharp and high-pitched. "Oh, I already have! But that's not the fun part. See, breaking someone? That's just foreplay. The real art is making them choose to stay broken," his voice dipped dangerously low. "And he will. For you."

Liam's fists clenched, the ropes biting into his skin. "If you touch him—"

"I don't need to touch him, Batsy," Joker cooed, delight oozing from every word. "All I need is the idea of you... dangling between life and death."

Harry checked his watch and smiled. He motioned with his hands and one of his men stepped forward, holding a syringe.

"No—" Liam thrashed, but the needle slid into his arm. The drugs acted fast, pulling him down into darkness.

"Night-night, old friend," Harry sang, crouching to meet Liam's fading gaze. "By the time you wake up... well," he smiled, his teeth gleaming. "Your little bird will already belong to me."

***

The familiar hum of the Batmobile's engine greeted Liam before his consciousness fully returned. His body slumped in the driver's seat, muscles stiff, his mind foggy.

The dashboard blinked softly, the glow of the internal computer lighting up the vehicle.

Then there was tapping on the window of the car, desperate and insistent.

"Liam!" It was Niall's voice; strained, yet composed. "Are you alright?"

Batman groaned, rubbing at his temple. "How did I—?" he fumbled for the door, opening it up.

Niall knelt outside the car, levelling with Liam. "The Batmobile returned to the cave on autopilot," he explained. "Seems like Joker's men intended for you to be... delivered back."

Delivered. The word rang in Liam's mind like an alarm.

He bolted upright. Memories returned in flashes—the docks, the ambush, Joker's taunts in the warehouse. And then...

"Louis." His voice dropped into a growl.

Niall hesitated. "What about him?"

Liam's mind raced. Joker's sick words reverberated—What do you think your dear Robin would pick? Your life? Or his? The implication landed like a punch.

"Louis," he whispered, his stomach twisting. He shoved the steering wheel, the force rocking the seat. "Damn it!"

"Hey," Niall interjected. "I need you to focus. What happened?"

Liam's voice shook with suppressed anger. "It's Louis. Joker's forced his hand. Whatever happened while I was out—Louis... he made a deal."

Niall's voice softened. "Another deal?" he asked. "What kind?"

Liam's fist curled, slamming against the dashboard. "This wasn't the plan. It wasn't—" His voice faltered as reality sank in. "I keep losing him."

Niall hesitated for a moment before shutting the door, walking around to the other side and climbing into the car.

"What are you-?"

"We're going to go get him back," Niall said firmly.

Liam nodded slowly, starting up the car and shooting off into the inky darkness. Liam's mind worked furiously, building up a plan in his mind, starting at the docks. There was one inescapable truth that clawed at his brain:

Joker had Louis. And this time, it wasn't just Gotham at stake, it was Louis' soul.

***

The apartment had been unusually quiet for days. After the chaos of recent events, Harry unexpectedly declared that Louis deserved some 'downtime'.

"Relax, sweetheart," he'd said with a faint smirk, gesturing toward Louis' room. "I'm not a complete monster. You should rest."

Louis wasn't sure he believed him but, true to his word, The Joker hadn't dragged him into any schemes or put him in any life-threatening situations all week. It almost felt normal—if normal meant stewing in a hideout with the most dangerous man in Gotham.

Louis lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The solitude did little to calm his racing thoughts. The words from their last confrontation—Harry's demands, the weight of his brother's life hanging in the balance, their kiss—lingered like a ghost he couldn't shake.

When the door creaked open, Louis sat up instantly, his body tense. Harry leaned casually against the doorframe, his green eyes brighter than they had been in days.

"Rest time's over, sweetheart," Harry said with a faint smile. "Thought I'd come deliver the bad news personally."

Louis swung his legs over the side of the bed, his posture tense. "You have the worst bedside manners."

"Can't be good at everything," Harry quipped. His grin faded as he glanced around. "Come on, Robin. Up you get. Stretch those legs. I don't like having serious conversations in cramped spaces."

Louis hesitated before standing, his muscles coiled like springs. He followed Harry out into the kitchen, his steps slow and wary.

The room was dimly lit, and the faint hum of Gotham's streets buzzed outside the window. Harry sauntered over to the counter, trailing a hand along its surface. He gestured for Louis to sit at the stools, but Louis stayed where he was, standing stiffly near the edge of the room.

Harry sighed dramatically, pushing himself off the counter. His eyes narrowed slightly as he tilted his head, studying Louis like a puzzle. "Loosen up, sweetheart. Life with me isn't all bad."

Louis crossed his arms, his gaze steady. "What do you want?"

Harry's grinned again, predatory and playful all at once. He closed the distance between them in two strides, stopping just short of crowding Louis.

"You've had your rest," he said. "Now it's back to business."

Louis looked unimpressed. "What now?" he asked. "Let me guess? Killing pilots? Terrorising the city? Oh, I know! Splitting up orphans from the only family they have left." His glare was so relentless that Harry was almost impressed.

"How about helping orphans reach their full potential?" The Joker offered.

Louis scoffed. "How about get on with it before I leave," he shot back, taking a step towards the door almost threateningly.

Harry tutted at him, stepping closer. "Oh no, sweetheart," he said. "No running, remember?" he added. "That's our deal. That was your promise."

Louis' nose twitched, but his face remained neutral.

Harry's hand reached out for his wrist, always his wrist. Louis pulled away at first but The Joker's grip was firm and insistent. Something in his gaze said no running. Louis stilled and Harry ran his thumb over Louis' pulse point, a strange intimacy in the gesture.

"I'm curious," Harry started. "What was the plan, anyway, sweetheart?" he asked. His thumb rubbed circles into Louis' skin. "Lock me up in Arkham again? Toss away the key and hope for the best?"

Louis tensed under his touch, trying to yank his wrist again but Harry tightened his grip.

The Joker chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Hope I wouldn't tear through those walls to get back to you?" he questioned. "You think I wouldn't go through every guard in there? All the king's horses and all the king's men, just to reach you."

Louis finally wrenched his arm free, glaring up at Harry with a mix of anger and confusion. "Why?" he demanded, his voice raw. "Why me? What is it with me?"

Harry tilted his head, the humour slipping from his expression. His gaze turned contemplative, almost tender, in a way that set Louis' teeth on edge.

"I've told you before," Harry said, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. "Breaking you would be my masterpiece. All that fire inside you? Watching it go out would be beautiful."

Louis' stomach churned, but Harry wasn't done.

"But keeping you all to myself?" Harry's voice dipped lower, taking on an almost reverent tone. "Having all that fire burning just for me? Well, that's something else entirely."

Louis stared at him, his jaw tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, sharp with defiance. "Let's get one thing straight," he said, taking a step closer.

Harry raised a brow, clearly intrigued.

Louis' hands clenched at his sides. "I'll work for you. I'll follow orders if it means keeping the people I care about safe. But don't get this twisted—it'll never make me yours."

Harry's grin widened, but this time, it wasn't mocking. It was something else, something darker, quieter like he was savouring Louis' anger.

"That fire?" Louis continued. "That burns in spite of you."

"Careful, Robin," Harry said, his voice low and amused.

"I am not yours," Louis bit out, his voice firm. "And I never will be."

Harry chuckled softly, leaning in just enough to make the air between them heavy. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against Louis' cheek. "Keep telling yourself that."

Louis turned his head to look away. His face prickled with heat as Harry pulled away from him. He was angry, furious at the suggestion, at the stupid deal he'd made, at the fact that Harry's lips were so close to his own. At the fact that they'd kissed and at the fact that he couldn't seem to shake that feeling of being owned by Harry's lips.

It was Harry who spoke up, tearing Louis from the war inside his mind.

"Your little bat intervention the other night had some... unintended consequences," he said cooly.

Louis frowned, still not looking at Harry. "What are you talking about?"

The Joker tilted his head. "The Brighton Syndicate got their grubby little hands on some of my best merchandise," he explained.

Robin looked up at this. "The Brighton Syndicate?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes. "They're small-time. No way they pulled something like that on their own."

Harry's smirk widened, his gaze sparking with amusement. "Smart boy. They didn't. My guess? Someone tipped them off. Gave them just enough leverage to slip through while you and I were playing chess."

Louis' stomach sank. He exhaled slowly, trying to process. "What's in the shipment? You said weapons, what else?"

"Curious, are we?" Harry teased, but when Louis shot him a glare, his smirk faltered slightly. "Fine," he continued. "Some high-grade weapons, encrypted tech files—things the Brighton boys won't understand but will absolutely try to use."

"Encrypted files?" Louis frowned deeper.

Harry's grin widened again. "Oh, now you're interested."

"You want me to track them down, don't you?" Louis pressed.

Harry leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something smoother, almost coaxing. "It's not just tracking them down, darling. It's tying up loose ends. You're good at that."

Louis hesitated, his chest tightening. "You mean neutralise them."

"Yes. I want those files and weapons back. Intact," The Joker replied. "Do what you do best, Robin. Get those weapons off the streets."

Louis let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "You really want me to believe you care about keeping Gotham safe?"

Harry grinned. "Safe?" he repeated, voice low and playful. "No, sweetheart. You care about that. I care about order. This mess? It's just bad for business."

Louis stepped back, ready to leave.

"You're forgetting something," Harry interrupted, causing Louis to halt. "Or, rather, someone."

***

The darkened warehouse sat nestled on Gotham's outskirts, its towering walls smeared with graffiti and shadows. The Brighton Syndicate's symbol—an abstract scrawl vaguely resembling a lighthouse—was painted in fading red across the loading dock doors. Robin crouched low behind a stack of rusted crates on the opposite rooftop, his eyes scanning the activity below.

"Four on the door, three patrolling outside," Robin muttered, barely above a whisper. His earpiece crackled faintly with the quiet response.

"That's a lot of firepower for small-time amateurs," Harley quipped from the rooftop opposite. He perched on the edge with a surprising stillness, a lithe figure clad in black and red. His face glowed faintly in the dim moonlight as he grinned down at the chaos. "Looks like they've upgraded, huh?"

Robin lowered his binoculars, glancing toward Harley. His tone was clipped. "You think?"

"I mean, it's cute," Harley continued, tapping a black-gloved finger against his chin. "A bunch of nobodies playing mob boss with Joker's toys. Almost makes you feel bad for crashing their little playdate."

"We're not crashing anything," Robin replied, his voice firm. "Not yet. There are too many of them. Our job is to track them and figure out who they're working with. Not to start a war."

Harley tilted his head, the faintest hint of a pout on his lips. "Boring."

Robin ignored him, turning back to the scene below. The Brighton Syndicate was unloading crates from a black van parked at the warehouse entrance. Their movements were quick but methodical, their chatter faint but animated. The stolen shipment was there—no doubt about it.

"You think they know what's in those crates?" Harley mused, shifting slightly. "Or are they just happy to have something shiny and dangerous to play with?"

Robin didn't answer immediately, his eyes narrowing as one of the gang members motioned to someone deeper inside the warehouse. A second later, another figure emerged—taller, broader, and flanked by two armed men. Their boss, Robin guessed.

"I don't know, but they've got muscle," Robin muttered. "We can't take them head-on. Not without backup."

Harley chuckled softly, the sound barely audible over the faint hum of the warehouse generators. "You say that like your bat-buddy's just a comms call away."

Robin stiffened, glancing toward Harley sharply. The other man's grin widened.

"What?" Harley said innocently, tilting his head. "Cat got your tongue, little bird?"

"How long have you known?" Robin asked, his voice low but laced with tension.

Harley's grin didn't falter. "About your secret little rendezvous? Long enough."

Robin's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "It was you, wasn't it?" he snapped, more of a statement than a question. "You told him!"

Harley finally shifted, pushing up from his crouch and stretching lazily. "Of course I told him," he replied, his tone almost cheerful. "What kind of right-hand would I be if I kept something like that from him?"

Robin's glare could've burned holes through steel. "You followed me!" he accused. "You had no right—"

"No right?" Harley interrupted, arching an eyebrow. "Oh, birdie, you're adorable. Walking around like some double agent, playing nice with Joker while feeding crumbs to your bat-buddy. Did you really think no one would notice?"

"I was careful," Robin shot back.

Harley barked out a laugh. "Clearly not careful enough."

Robin exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Why do you even care?"

Harley leaned forward slightly, his grin softening into something almost curious. "Care? I don't. Not really. But Mister J? Oh, he cares," Harley's eyes glinted in the low light. "You should've just come clean, birdy. Would've saved yourself a lot of trouble."

Robin looked away, his stomach twisting. "You don't understand."

"No, you don't understand," Harley said, his voice suddenly sharper. "You don't mess with him. You don't play him, Robin. Not unless you're ready to lose."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Below, the Brighton Syndicate continued their work, oblivious to the tension simmering above.

Robin finally broke the silence, his tone quieter but no less firm. "What's your deal, anyway? Why do you stick with him? What's he got on you?"

Harley chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, we go way back." He leaned back against the rooftop ledge. "The better question is: What's he got on you?"

Robin didn't respond, his gaze snapping back to the warehouse. One of the gang members was gesturing toward the van, motioning for the others to move the crates inside. They were getting ready to leave.

"We'll follow them," Robin muttered, forcing the tension to the back of his mind. "See where they're headed. No confrontation."

"Fine," Harley said, pushing off the ledge. "But if they pull out rocket launchers or something, don't come crying to me."

Robin didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the syndicate as the van doors slammed shut. As the vehicle rolled out of the warehouse, he felt Harley's gaze on him, sharp and searching.

"You should thank me, you know," Harley said suddenly, his tone almost playful.

"For what?" Robin asked without looking at him.

"For telling him about your little side hustle," Harley replied. "If I hadn't and he'd been taken back to Arkham?" Harley made a wincing sound. "Not pretty for you, baby bat."

Robin clenched his jaw but kept his focus on the van as it turned onto the main road. "Let's move," he said curtly.

Harley followed behind Robin, his laughter soft but lingering as they disappeared into the night.

***

The Joker's headquarters felt unnervingly quiet when Louis returned. Shadows formed in the corners of the grand apartment, the only sound the dull hum of the city outside. Louis hesitated at the entrance before pushing open the door.

Harry was lounging on the sofa, an arm draped lazily over the backrest, his other hand holding a tumbler of amber liquid that caught the dim light. He didn't look up immediately, but his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"You took your time."

Louis closed the door behind him, his pulse quickening. "We tracked them to a safehouse," he said, keeping his tone even.

Harry turned his head, his green eyes pinning Louis in place. The edge of his lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "Safehouse, huh?"

Louis stopped just shy of the sofa. "Brighton's gang has the shipment. They're armed, organised—there were too many of them for a direct hit tonight. We figured it's better to track them and—"

"Sit with me," Harry interrupted softly, his voice calm but insistent, cutting through Louis' report.

Louis froze at the words, his hesitation apparent. Harry's gaze was locked on him, steady and unmoving, leaving no room for argument. There was something in the way Harry leaned back, his arm still stretched out along the backrest, that made the silence feel heavier.

Reluctantly, Louis sat down, keeping a careful distance. But the Joker shifted slightly, closing some of the space between them, his arm falling casually closer to Louis' shoulder.

Harry tilted his head slightly, the tumbler resting against his knee. "And?"

Louis cleared his throat, his fingers pressing into his knees as he refocused.  "I didn't recognise any of them," he said. "Their boss didn't look familiar," he admitted. "They're probably using the weapons to make a play for more territory."

For a moment, Harry was silent, his gaze unrelenting. Then, he leaned back, his laughter soft and low, curling through the room like smoke.

"Of course they are," Harry said, his tone light. "Can't leave the kids alone for a second without them raiding the cookie jar, can we?"

Louis felt a flicker of relief—Harry didn't seem angry. Not yet.

"So," Harry continued. "What's our next move, Robin?"

Louis blinked, caught off guard. "You're asking me?"

"Why not?" The Joker downed his drink. "You tracked them down. What do we do next?"

Louis straightened, his mind racing. "We wait," he said finally. "Follow them, see where they take the rest of the shipment. Find out who's pulling the strings and question them. If we hit now, we risk losing everything."

Harry watched him closely, his expression unreadable. Then, to Louis' surprise, he nodded slowly.

"Smart," he said, his voice low. "Calculated. Waiting means seeing the bigger picture." He leaned forward to a side table, picked up another glass, and poured Louis a drink before topping up his own glass. He handed it over, his fingers brushing Louis' in the exchange. "Drink."

Louis eyed the tumbler warily but didn't refuse. He took a small sip, the burn of the alcohol sharp on his throat.

"You handled yourself well out there tonight," Harry remarked after a beat. "Tracking them down. Thinking on your feet. Makes me wonder what else you can handle."

Louis glanced at him, bristling slightly at the edge of condescension in Harry's tone. "I'm not your lackey if that's what you're suggesting."

"No," Harry said lightly, though his smirk didn't waver. "You're something much more useful."

Louis started to push himself to the edge of his seat, his unease clear.

But Harry leaned forward, his arm brushing Louis' as he reached out to pluck the empty tumbler from his hands. "Relax, Robin," he murmured, his voice slipping into something more coaxing. "Tonight's over. You've earned your rest."

The touch was fleeting, gone almost before Louis could process it, but it left an indelible heat curling in the pit of his stomach.

Harry leaned back again, his own glass still in hand as his other arm fell along the backrest, his fingers grazing the nape of Louis' neck with unsettling familiarity.

Louis swallowed hard, the tension crackling like static electricity between them.

"Tomorrow," Harry drawled, his tone low and smooth. "We remind Brighton's boys who runs this city," he said lightly, then smirked. "Spoiler: it's not them."

Louis rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. "Wow, dramatic. You should write speeches for politicians."

Harry chuckled, tipping his glass toward Louis. "Stick around, sweetheart. I might make you my campaign manager."

;) The boys are back.

Every time I write a lighter moment between them I just get guilt for Batman. :'(

Big BIG things coming in a few chapters! <3

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