Batsy.
It’s never easy with her. Every time it’s a test against his conviction. Lesser men would offer brutality as appropriate penance, but he’s tired, tired of letting the raw nerve reactions of this city overwhelm progress. The white lenses of his cowl pull back from examining the scene, and he makes an attempt at some semblance of peace with an outstretched hand. “Come with me. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
No one could make Joker smile the way that the Batman could. It was something about his predictability, his tenacity. Good ol' reliable Batsy. Always trying to save everyone, every soul in Gotham, even hers. What a messiah complex. Probably some deeply rooted childhood trauma, if she had to venture a guess. "Ya know, one a' these days, yer gonna have to tell me who it WAS..." She isn't looking at the offered hand, or even at the familiar expanse of mouth and chin underneath his mask. Icy eyes were focused on his shoulders instead, waiting for him to make a move. It wasn't beyond Batsy to try and save her by force, and if he thought he was going to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of here like some kind of caped caveman, then he had another thing coming. "Who was it ya couldn't SAVE??"
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