Author's Note: As with my other Joker fanfic A Siren's Call, you can expect lots of detail, long chapters, and a romance with a truly romantic feel. Not to mention violence, murder, and intrigue, because it wouldn't be a Joker fic if we didn't get our gloves bloodied from time to time. Enjoy!


Good Morning Heartache

Fate has a strange way of bringing people together. Generally, it's a chance encounter, a sort of divine accident—and a beautiful one at that—which makes the past and present collide. However, in the Joker's case, it was anything but. In fact, it was cold-blooded murder that brought the ghosts of his past surging back to life.

Tucked into the dark entryway of a neighboring brownstone was the Joker. Peering over the brick townhouse before him with dark amber eyes, he gripped an umbrella tightly in his hand, his leather glove squeaking in protest. Swiftly his gaze traveled across the street, up the steps to the front door, and like the vines that covered the house, darted over to the left, trailing along the windowsill.

Not once in their time spent apart did he ever think he would see her again.

While fate is often tested by him and hope something he lacked, if you were to put it to him in the form of a question and you asked, 'Are you pleased to see her?' If he were feeling inclined to answer, right before he pulled the trigger, he would give an emphatic, 'Yes.' And while you would be dead he would still be rooted in place, peering through the falling rain at one disconsolate beauty, willing her to lift her head so that he could stare into her eyes just one more time.

As though answering his silent plea Gabrielle Danis raised her head. For a brief moment, the Joker entertained the idea that she was not staring blindly through the window, but looking directly into his eyes.

"How sinfully intoxicating," he breathed, his natural deep vibrato wasted on the falling rain.

Tragedy was a thing of immense beauty in his eyes and her grief hit him like a wave of pure ecstasy.

Despite the heavy rain, he could easily detect the sorrow in her dark chocolate orbs as she stared wistfully through her black birdcage veil and cap. With longing eyes, he took her in piece by piece, setting fire to the old image and replacing it with the new. Flames erupted from his amber eyed gaze and flickered over her person, traveling across her oval face, dark almond-shaped eyes, straight nose, and a full mouth that was painted a deep, dark red. The intense red of her lips highlighted the natural blush to her cheeks and complimented her smooth, caramel brown skin.

When a tear escaped and her lips pressed together to hold back a sob, something in him stirred.

Gabrielle stared through the glass from her spot on the window seat unable to focus. Every second that passed brought a loving memory to the forefront of her mind: a soft smile, warm hug, a kind word, the sound of laughter...

So consumed was she by thoughts of her grandmother that she didn't feel the quickening of her heartbeat. Soon it took to pounding like a thundering drum and with a gasp, she pressed a hand to her chest. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe. Pressing deeper into the pillow at her back she allowed her eyes to flutter closed and concentrated on her breathing.

In the back of her mind, she wondered: how can it hurt so much? Everywhere she looked she saw her grandmother, even in the comfort and solitude of her own home. Turning her head to the left she looked out across her living room, the corners of her mouth tilting upward as she remembered arguing about the choice of paint and fabric.

...

The old woman's graying brown hair was pulled back into a low bun when a few wisps fell into her eyes she brushed it back and pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. Slowly she turned in a circle, lips pressed firmly together with a look on her face that read: for shame!

"I don't understand why you can't just choose one color, Gabby! This is just too much baby," Helen said motioning to the paint can at her feet before placing her hands on her hips.

Gabrielle chuckled as she tossed a purple ikat patterned pillow onto a marigold wingback settee. "It will turn out fine, granny," she told her, holding back a grin when Helen looked at her as though she sprouted a second head.

Spying the three different cans of paint, Helen made a clucking sound with her tongue that made her granddaughter laugh harder. It was her grandmother's way of saying, Oh no the hell it won't! But much to Gabrielle's pleasure, and her grandmother's immense surprise, it all came together exquisitely.

...

You must be wondering what design could make an old woman want to knock some sense into her grandbaby. Allow me to tell you. To complement the marigold settee, the ceiling and crown molding had been painted white and simply popped as the walls themselves were painted a deep, rich burgundy. At the head of the room was a black marble fireplace and mantle with a copy of Gustav Klimt's The Kiss directly above it. Shelving had been carved into the wall on either side with a white and black imperial trellis background. The shelving unit housed books, photographs, and a silver statue of an elephant as Gabrielle adored them. But you couldn't see the elephant now.

Biting her lower lip Gabrielle's eyes wondered over the dozens of floral arrangements in her home. They covered the opening of the fireplace, shelves, and mantle threatening to even block The Kiss from sight.

Not all of the flowers were from loved ones. Many of them were from fans—Gabrielle's not her grandmothers—and had been brought over by her agent. As a famous author news spread quickly of her tragedy and everyone who loved her work paid their respects. While it was no doubt touching it was just... too much.

If you haven't yet lost a loved one, then there's no way to explain the feeling of just wanting to be left alone, to sit in the stillness of a quiet room and remember better days and to weep once remembrance was found.

The heels of her black pumps clicked rhythmically across the dark hardwood floor as she made her way to the sofa. Tears stung her eyes as she ran her fingertips over the violet sweater draped across the back; bringing it to her face she breathed in deep. Fresh lavender and warm vanilla tickling her nose. At the lingering scent, her knees buckled and her black taffeta dress billowed out around her.

Catching herself she choked on a sob, nearly stumbling as she took her next step. Kicking off her shoes Gabrielle molded into the corner of the sofa and with trembling fingers removed the veil and cap from her face, tossing it onto the mahogany square coffee table without a second glance. Lying down on the sofa she stared up at the large metal prism chandelier and fingered the soft cotton material of the violet sweater.

Without warning, a floodgate of emotion surged forth.

Helen Love had been everything to Gabrielle, acting as both parent and grandmother when her own had passed when she was just a babe. And they had been close; doing everything together because they enjoyed each other's company. Though sadly now all of that was gone. The laughter and the joy, overnight stays that carried into the week ahead, and the love that was felt in a warm embrace, all of that and more was taken from Gabrielle due to one senseless act of violence.

As tragic as her death was Gabrielle's guilt of not being there to protect her was positively heart-wrenching. So distressing were her thoughts that she wrapped her arms around her middle and wailed. If only I had gone with her, she screamed in her mind, maybe then she would still be alive.

Truth be told Helen was a firm believer that there was always something to do and people to see. It was with this belief that she went downtown to visit a friend and lost her life. Gabrielle could not foretell such an outcome and with her deadline to her latest book vast approaching her grandmother wouldn't have dared to interrupt her. So what could have been done? Nothing. Gabrielle, like all of us, is not the master of fate.

All eyewitnesses stated that Helen complied, that she gave the thief her purse without so much as a moment's hesitation or hint of a struggle. Yet once the purse was in his possession he cocked back the shotgun and fired. A few witnesses said he had gone so far to as laugh when she fell.

Now mind you I said laugh, not cackle. No, the owner of a certain telltale cackle was completely innocent and making his way across the street.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Startled Gabrielle sat up and choked on a sob. When she realized it was just the door she flopped back down not wanting to deal with any more visitors.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Dark brown eyes glowered at the ceiling. Swallowing back her cries and a curse, she left her haven, bare feet padding across the hardwood floor, seeming to echo within the void of her heart.

"Just a minute!" She called stepping into the foyer.

Pausing beside the door, she stared into a large oval mirror. Tragedy showed clearly on her visage. How long had she been crying? Minutes or hours? Whatever it was her face was now flushed, eyes puffy, nose tinged red, and her cheeks puffed out like a balloon. Making herself as presentable as possible she wiped at her tear-stained cheeks, smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, and ran her fingers through her short black curls. Taking a deep breath, she vowed that this would be the last visitor and that when she was done she would go upstairs and cry. Saying a quick prayer for courage, she turned the knob.

Gabrielle came face to purple umbrella. Taken back, she blinked startled. Forced to do so she took her visitor in from the ground up. The man, whoever he was, was wearing dark purple wingtips and black pinstripe pants. As the umbrella rose so did her inspection of him to reveal: a black and white checkered vest, pocket watch chain, a silk purple tie, one crisp white shirt, and a lapel pin that was a series of playing cards molded into a flower with a skull in its center.

Brow furrowed Gabriel parted her lips to speak and was cut off for the umbrella had lifted completely to reveal his face.

"You know," the Joker began smoothly, dark amber eyes flickering like a flame, "they say the quickest way to get over your grief is to take a shot of Jack!


Thanks for reading!