My first ever Batman (Dark Knight) fic and it's a bit scary. I realize that the Joker just probably makes up all the stories about how he got his scars, but I decided to take the one about his wife and write about it. There are some allusions to an abusive father, but in this story, that's not how he got the scars. I guess I just like the idea that he was in love once. (Oh, and I believe the general consensus is that the Joker's original name was Jack Napier, so that's what I'm going with. It's just coincidence that it happens to be the same name as in the nursery rhyme, which I thought fit with this story very well. I'm not naming his wife, but I'm pretty sure she's not called Jill.)

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water

Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after

Everyone told them they got married too quickly. They had only known each other for six months, and neither had much money, or a steady job. If he could support her or if she couldn't bring in any income herself, everyone said, their love would quickly turn to resentment, even hate. Money, apparently, not only made the world go round, but it also kept people together, like papery green glue. They laughed like little kids at that, like it was the funniest thing in the world. Drunk on each other's presence, they were in no mood to listen to the concerned opinions of "everyone."

Anyway, that word only encompassed several well-meaning acquaintances, since she had few friends, and he had none at all. Life hadn't been easy for either of them, and maybe that was why they had clung to each other with such devotion. They had both had fiendish fathers—drinkers, who came home every night with obscenities on their lips and violence in their eyes. They had both grown up without much money, and had both been the outcasts at school, the lunatics, the loners. The freaks. Finding someone who cared, who understood and loved them had seemed almost unreal to the pair, like it was a thing that belonged in someone else's life.

He'd never been a romantic, had never even really believed in love before, not after everything he'd seen, but he wasn't so cynical that he couldn't recognize when he had something precious, and he understood that this might never come again. He told her that he wasn't a good man, that he wasn't exceptionally kind or honest—(though even then, those things didn't bother him)—but that he loved her, as much as he was able to, and that he wanted to stay with her for as long as he ever lived. It was the purest, most unguarded thing he ever said—to her or anyone else. She sniffed, nodded, kissed him so hard he nearly fell backwards, and that was that.

They were happy for a long time, longer than anyone had predicted they would be. Things weren't perfect, but they were good. Neither of them seemed to be able to keep a job for very long, but more work always came along, even if it didn't last. If she stopped to think about it, it was miraculous that they managed to get by on so little, but he didn't want to trouble her with boastful tales of his excursions, the clown mask he wore to hide his face, the gun he kept concealed in his coat when he went out late at night. They were happy, after all.

--

"Jack…" She placed her hands on his shoulders, turning him away from the kitchen knife he'd been meticulously cleaning. "Why so serious, Jack?"

He relaxed as her fingers trailed across his chest, his eyes softening as they met hers. He really did love her. "I'm not serious."

"You are. You need to smile more, hun." She stretched the corners of his mouth upwards with her thumbs, giggling. Her hands were warm against his skin, and he shivered and pulled her closer.

"I got a job today," she mumbled into his shirt.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Nursing. It pays well." She tilted her heat to look up at him, propping her chin against his chest. "The graveyard shift. Twelve to eight. It's the best I could get."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Really?"

He tucked her head under his chin and stroked her reddish brown hair. "Yeah…" He glanced at his coat, which was slung over the back of the chair, his eyes lingering on the barely visible bulge in the right pocket. It would certainly make his job easier.

--

Working the night shift made things easier for her, too. Gotham's casino was only a few blocks from the hospital, and now she didn't have to worry about waking her husband when she snuck out at night to play cards. She was good at poker. Her father used to play it with her, on the occasional night when he wasn't completely wasted. She'd never felt the need to explain to Jack just how they were still always able to pay the bills, so when her luck suddenly started to turn sour, she knew that this was a problem she would have to deal with alone.

--

Jack lay struggling at the bottom of a thick, murky nightmare, sweat standing out on his brow, his eyes screwed shut against countless imaginary horrors. He was drowning—or falling, he wasn't sure which, surrounded by darkness and sickening mad laughter. There were half-shadowed faces with bloody red smiles and dead black eyes, and his father's voice was screaming at him.

There was the noise of a slamming door and he jerked awake, gasping like he'd just surfaced from deep water. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, along with an odd, muffled noise, like someone choking to death and trying to be quiet about it. Jack sat up, wiping sweat out of his eyes and squinting at the crack of light that appeared under the door.

"Babe? Is that you?"

There was a tiny sob from the other side of the door. He stood up and made his way to the crack of light, already reaching for the doorknob. He could hear sniffling, and he started to ask if she was all right as the door swung open, when the light flooded his senses, and he stopped dead. It took him a moment to even recognize her as his wife. Her face was pale, gaunt, and covered in streaks of drying blood, dark red turning to black at the edges. Her eyes were wide and unseeing.

He rushed forward with a horrified cry and she staggered against him, fingers clenching on his shoulders as though she was afraid she might fly away. He pulled back from her slightly and took her face gingerly in his hands, tilting it up for examination. Her skin looked like a half-used page from a child's coloring book. Clumsy X's were carved across both cheeks, and a long cut started at the bridge of her nose and hooked to fallow the shape of her left eyebrow. Fresh blood was trickling into her eye and she blinked it away, a tear trailing down her cheek, melting the dried gore along her jaw line.

He let out the breath he'd been holding in a horrified hiss. "Oh… oh my god. What happened to you?"

Her face seemed to inwards (which only made the cuts start bleeding again) and she muffled her sob in his shoulder. "Oh, Jack, I'm… I'm so sorry…"

He pulled her close to him and tried to wipe the tears off her cheeks, but it only made the wounds sting worse.