Hello!
I'm glad you found my fic. Let's be real for a quick minute…I'm scared crap-less posting this fic. Although I'm a seasoned fan fiction author (I write mainly Dragon Ball Z, Bulma/Vegeta fics) I'm new to the Batman Fan Fiction Universe. But I am a HUGE Joker fan, and like many fans, my favorite comic is The Killing Joke. Jeannie's character very much intrigued me... so as you can guess, this fic will be loosely based off the comic, but I've always imagined Joker's origins in the Nolan-Verse.
Warnings: This will be a dark fic. There will be mentions of abuse, murder and the such, and there will be some cursing. If this sort of this isn't for you, please seek the mini 'x' on the upper right hand corner of your computer screen.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman
Memory: noun, the mental capacity or faculty of retaining and reviving fact, events, impression, etc., or of recalling or recognizing previous experiences.
"Jack."
"Ja-aack."
"Jack baby, where are you?"
His body jolted upwards from its prone position and his hands went straight to his ears, covering them from the sing-song call. When the echo's of the sugary voice withered away, he sat up straight with a groan and squinted one eye open, shielding the other from the harsh desk light that was shining brightly at him. His eyes darted to the old fashioned alarm clock next to the lamp and sucked in an annoyed breath when it read 12:01am.
He had sat down with the blue prints of Gotham's City Hall just after 6pm, and he couldn't remember getting very far in his plans.
You were bound to pass out where you stood sooner or later if you hadn't slept in over three days. He had his reasons… He had a lot on his plate. He had a grand plan and it needed fine tuning, a certain Batman that he needed to string along, a gang of thugs to keep in order, and then the issue he never wanted to talk about…
Her.
She would sometimes come to him in his dreams, sometimes not. He'd rarely think of her, unless something provoked a memory. It was a subject he had locked in a box and stuffed deep down into the depths of his warped brain.
He stood up suddenly and flipped the desk over, sending everything flying and skidding across the already abused wood flooring, his anger exploding at the thought of her sweet face. He knew that the memories and feelings that often came with weren't going to go away anytime soon. This sort of thing happened on occasion, especially after his first stint in Arkham. The anti-psychotics and therapy sessions brought her to the surface, which royally pissed him off. He kept the memories to himself, mind you. He didn't want to give the assholes at Arkham the satisfaction that they were actually doing their job. He'd usually just sit in the therapy room and keep completely quiet, agitating his therapist, or make snide or crude jokes, agitating the good doctor even more. But he never cracked and answered the questions they so very much wanted the answers to:
What's your name?
How old are you?
Where are you from?
What were your parents like?
When did you first start acting the way that you do?
The list of questions went on and on and finally they stopped being asked once they realized he wasn't going to crack, and then the therapist did most of the talking. Those questions held the key to his undoing. If they knew the answers, he'd be powerless…well, to an extent. He'd still do the things he did best, but the edge and mysteriousness and the power wouldn't be there for him anymore…and really, where's the fun in that?
He ran a hand over his face, smearing the white, black and red grease paint even more then it was before and grabbed his heavy purple suit jacket to put on. He needed to go do something…he wasn't sure what yet, but it needed to be something that would get his mind on something else. Maybe a little kidnapping, an explosion of some sort…something, anything!
He walked out of his room and into the warehouse where a few of his men were snoring away. Usually he'd take pleasure in scaring the shit out of them by shooting at their feet. Woohoo! The looks on their faces when he did that. Or maybe punching one of them so hard they were knocked off of their makeshift bed and landed on the floor. But he passed on that, it didn't really make his heart go pitter patter.
Not bothering to look around first, he exited the warehouse and made his way onto the street. He knew he could be spotted, but it was the middle of the night, not a lot of people were out and about, and those who were wouldn't dare call the cops.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and walked, trying to think of something to do…but it was no use, and he knew it.
Soon thoughts of when The Joker was born and Jack Lucas Napier died bubbled up to the surface of his warped brain...
It was supposed to be an in and out job. Intimidate, collect and go home. But it just didn't happen that way….But then again, when did things ever go smoothly for him?
Never.
Jack lumbered into the night club, already hating the job he was assigned. The loud, thumping music reverberated off the cement walls and it made him want to turn around and leave. He wasn't a fan of the rich men and women of Gotham. Their taste in music and clothing were annoying to him… as a matter of fact, everything about the yuppies of Gotham annoyed him. It was Jack's favorite pastime to knock them down a peg or two by humiliating them in some way or another. Their arrogance and self-importance made him both laugh and want to punch their teeth in at the same time. They were the bane of his existence, even before he started working for his loan shark boss. No, Jack and the wealthy, stuck up people of Gotham weren't the best of friends…
The fact that they thought they were in charge of their lives was deliciously hilarious. More than 80% of the major players of Gotham's stock market were in collusion with the mob. But then again, who in this city wasn't?
He surveyed the warehouse turned night club, sneering at the crowd while he did so. He just wanted to get this over with, get out of here and go to bed.
He shoved passed the throngs of drunken men and women and up the stairs that led to the office which oversaw the club floor, where the target of intimidation was for the evening. He knocked and waited impatiently for the door to be opened.
"Who is it?" A deep, muffled voice asked from the other side of the door asked.
"Jack Napier." He answered back and leaned in closer to the door to listen to the scrambling and low, panicked voices bicker at each other.
He waited a whole sixty seconds and pounded harder. "I haven't got all night, open the door before I lose my temper."
With that the door almost immediately opened, revealing a short balding man dressed in a polyester suite that looked like it came straight from the 60's. "Jack! Hey, how are you?" He opened the door fully and gestured for him to come in. "I was just…umm… cleaning up my office."
Jack looked at him incredulously and then at the small office. Boxes were stacked head height, making the small office even smaller. A rolling chair was shoved up against the book shelf opposite of the desk that overflowed with paper, and on top of the crumpled mess was an old mirror, several lines of white powder and a rolled up fifty dollar bill.
He rolled his eyes. Jack hated dealing with druggies… probably because that's who he dealt with all the time.
A half dressed woman leaned against a tattered couch which was shoved up against the cluttered desk. She was too busy pulling her tight skirt down and wiping under her nose at the same time to give Jack the time of day. "I, uh, obviously interrupted things," Jack scoffed as he sat down on the ugly brown couch. He gave the woman a smirk. "Take a hike."
The woman's jaw dropped. "I don't know who you think you are, but you don't get to talk to me like that."
Jack's eyebrow twitched, but his smirk remained on his face.
"Eh-herm. Cinnamon, baby, why don't you go down stairs and get a drink. Give me and Jack a few minutes to conduct some business," the man said, winking at her. "Just tell Jeannie down there at the bar that you're with me, she'll take care of you."
Cinnamon licked her lips teasingly and then stroked his cheek. "Sure daddy. But don't make we wait too long." She then turned to Jack and gave him a glare and left in search of the free drinks that were promised.
"You've been a busy boy." Jack said, pointing to the door where Cinnamon had just exited out of. "You're not paying for her with our money, are you Tony?"
Tony's forehead almost instantly started sweating and he started to fidget. "Is that why you're here?"
Jack smiled at him, not bothering to answer his question. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a worn deck of cards, shuffling them absently. He looked up at Tony's sweaty form and patiently waited for him to explain himself.
"I-I swear I paid."
Jack rolled his eyes and continued shuffling. "No, Tony boy. You haven't. Otherwise I wouldn't have been sent to this shit hole."
"I'll have you know, this is the most popular night club in Gotham. I had Bruce Wayne in here last night."
Jack cocked his head to the side. "Well, whoop-de-doo!" He was deadpan as he whirled his pointer finger in the air. "So I guess, since you're doing so well, then you must have my boss's money." Jack stood up and playfully tapped his long index finger on his chin. "All $135,000… plus interest."
Tony paled. "I…I told you, already paid that back."
"Not according to my boss' books you didn't." He squinted at him, his smirk still on his face, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. It made him that much more intimidating. It was one of the attributes that made Jack truly feared. The smiles always came before the final warning.
He took a step towards Tony. He towered over the already short man, making him look like a giant compared to him. It was something that he used to his advantage. Jack was tall, almost lanky. He didn't look like the meat heads his boss usually had on his payroll. He didn't look like he had a whole lot of muscle, but if you were served one of Jack's knuckle sandwiches, you'd beg to differ.
Tony lifted his chin, giving Jack an almost defiant look, and then allowed a slow smile to spread across his lips. "Well maybe your boss' books are wrong...if you get my drift." He gave Jack a knowing wink then walked over to his desk. "I'm sure we can work something out, so you can, you know…look the other way." He rummaged through the piles of crumpled paper, making pieces flitter and fall to the ground until he found what he was looking for. He turned around triumphantly, holding a large bag of what Jack assumed was powdered cocaine and another bag of mushrooms. "Choose your poison."
Jack's eyes narrowed at the two baggies and then at Tony, then sighed heavily.
His arm shot out in a blink of an eye, grabbing a pair of rusted scissors that were sitting on the edge of the desk and his other hand grabbed onto Tony's right hand, knocking the bag of coke onto the ground. He held Tony's clammy hand flat on the desk, palm out.
"I resent the fact that you are trying to bribe me with drugs, Tony."
The short, bald man was trying frantically to free his hand, but it was no use, Jack's grip on it was way too strong to get out of. "What the fuck! What are you doing?"
"Against my better judgment, I'm giving you a break." He almost chuckled when he saw the look of relief in Tony's eyes and then the look of horror as Jack lifted the scissors up, then plunged it into his hand, imbedding the scissors into the desk.
"Now," Jack said, letting go of Tony's arm to flick him in the ear to make him stop screaming. "You should really stop your screaming, what I'm about to say is kind of important." He flicked Tony in the ear again and grunted when he finally shut up. "This," he pointed to his bloodied hand that was currently attached to the wooden desk, "is just a warning. I was told I could kill you if you didn't have the money, but I'm tired, Tony. I've had a long day, and all I want to do is go get something to eat and then go home. And killing you would just make that impossible. It takes hours to clean the scene of the crime and then getting rid of the body…" He shook his head. "You know what I'm saying, Tony?"
Tony whimpered something unintelligible.
"Great! I'm giving you till the end of the week, and when I come back, I expect $135,000 plus interest, in cash, waiting for me. And if you don't have it…well, you know what will happen." He gestured to Tony's hand. "See you soon, Tony." He turned around and exited, closing the door behind him. His ears were met with a bassy remix of Sweet Dreams Are Made of These, making him shudder. The throbbing beat made his head pound.
Jeannie poured a Washington Apple Martini into it's designated glass and handed it to Cinnamon, who grabbed for it and drank it greedily. It was her third one in ten minutes, and the woman didn't show signs of stopping anytime soon.
"Sweety," Cinnamon slurred and leaned across the bar. "You should really think about strippin'. Your bod' is perfect and you got the looks." She fluffed her obvious red dyed hair and pounded the remainder of her drink. "The money is real good too. I was able to pay for my boob job after a month of saving."
Jeannie's brow shot up and looked down at her outfit. She had more skin covered than the stripper standing across the bar. She wasn't dressed like a trollop, as her mother would say. A pair of leggings, ankle boots and a long sleeved slouch shirt that showed her bare shoulder… her makeup wasn't on too thick...was it the hair? Did she look like a stripper and nobody had the guts to tell her until now? "Thanks, but no thanks." Jeannie answered.
Cinnamon put the martini glass on the bar and gestured for another. "Seriously, doll. Just a bit more makeup and maybe dye your blonde hair to maybe a red or some other fun color and get you into some sexy clothes and the men will be drooling all over you. You seriously have the look, we'd just have to tweak a few things." She gestured to Jeannie's chest.
Jeannie grabbed the bottles to make yet another Washington Apple, biting her tongue as she did so. Being told that she had the looks of a stripper really wasn't making Jeannie all too happy. Why did Tony have to tell every woman he brought back with him to the club to see her while he conducted business? It was exhausting dealing with a new woman every night.
She quickly shook the alcohol together and poured the bright green contents into the empty glass, pushing it towards the thirsty woman as a tall man in a very nice gray suit sat down in front of Jeannie at the bar.
"You're free to go back to your bald lover-boy," he said to Cinnamon, and then turned to her, ignoring the dirty look the stripper gave him.
Jeannie watched as she sauntered drunkenly away, martini glass in hand. Tony really knew how to pick the winners…but then again, look at Tony. She shook her head when she saw Cinnamon loose her footing and stumble slightly, but managed to not spill a drop of her drink or fall flat on her face.
Someone cleared their throat, bringing Jeannie back from watching the drunken woman stumble about the dance floor. She shook her head in disbelief and blushed slightly when she saw that he was staring at her intently, and none too friendly, either. But even though he was scowling at her, she was still taken aback by his handsome features. His semi long curly, dirty blonde hair was slicked back, giving him a 1920's mobster look, and his eyes were a piercing green that reminded Jeannie of her mother's emerald earrings she wore on occasion.
"Errr…What can I get you?" She asked, embarrassed that she had been caught ogling like a hormonal teenager would a boy band member.
The man's brow shot up and the snarl on his lips made it apparent that he was not appreciating her making him wait. "Club soda and a napkin." He snapped.
"Oookay." She replied sarcastically and quickly filled a highball glass full of carbonated water and a few paper napkins and placed the items in front of him.
He hurumphed is displeasure as he snatched up a napkin and soaked it into the glass, and then tossed his tie over his shoulder, revealing a rather large red splatter on his otherwise crisp, clean white shirt. "Fucking druggie." He mumbled as he dabbed and scrubbed lightly at the stain.
"Can I get you anything else? You look like you could use some sort of alcoholic beverage."
"I don't drink." He replied curtly.
Jeannie looked at him, surprised. "Oh…umm well then," She grabbed a tall glass and packed it full of ice. "How about something non-alcoholic." She poured the glass half full with lemon-aid and then topped it off with iced tea. "On the house." She added as she placed the full glass in front of him. "You look like you've had a rough day." She added.
"Thanks." He grumbled and dipped another napkin into the glass full of club soda and started to scrub at the stain again.
"Uhm… you're going to want to soak that shirt in cold water for a while and then bleach it. I find that works best to get blood stains out of clothing." She said as she moved to the side to refill a drink for another club patron.
He sighed heavily and tossed the wet and slightly bloodied napkin on the bar and snatched his unwanted drink up to take a hefty gulp. "What is this?"
Jeannie looked over from the beer taps and smiled. "That's an Arnold Palmer. You like it?"
He chugged the rest and slid the emptied glass away from him and stood up. He gave her a smirk and slapped some money on the bar and left without saying a word.
"I'll take that as a yes?" She called after him but either the loud music drowned her out or he chose to ignore her.
After tending to a few more men and women in need of blurring their senses with alcohol, she went back to collect her tip that the grumpy yet good looking man left her. She had to count the three bills twice, just to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.
$50 was way too much of a tip. Especially for a drink that was unwanted.
Jack tiredly pushed the door to the 24 hour diner open and slid into his normal spot. He managed to get four hours of sleep. His eyeballs sprang open at 4am and they stubbornly stayed that way no matter how tired he was.
He didn't get a chance to eat like he had wanted to after he left Tony's club. He went straight home and fell face first into his bed and almost instantly passed the hell out. Seeing as he didn't have any food in his apartment, he went to the diner he frequented, just not at the ungodly hour of 4:30 in the morning.
"Jack," Linda, a waitress welcome him who he had thought compared to the Crypt Keeper due to her skin and bones body and wiry white hair piled up into a tight bun. "You're a bit early." She smiled, showing off her yellowed teeth from her two pack a day habit. "You want your usual?"
"Yup." He drawled, shoving the hood of his sweatshirt off of his head.
"I'll let Norm know. I'll put a fresh pot on too." She smiled and went off to put his order in.
He usually graced Norm's 24-hour Diner with his presence around ten in the morning, when the streets of the Narrows were visible by the sun, making it possible to do some prime people watching. But seeing as it was pitch dark out, Jack had nothing better to do but to stare at the pie menu and wait impatiently for his much needed coffee. The diner was dead, he was the only patron and there was nobody to watch except for Linda count her tips at the front counter or Norm work away at the griddle, muttering to himself about getting pancake batter on the bacon.
It wasn't unusual for him to not get the recommended eight hours sleep. For as long as Jack could remember, he'd sleep in increments; three hours here, five hours there, maybe a two hour nap once in a while. He was used to it and it made his job easier, seeing as he didn't keep normal business hours. He used his disadvantage to his advantage.
He was used to it. It just took him longer to wake up than the average person did. But once he got a cup or two of coffee in his system, he was good to go.
As he started to read about the Cherry Pie Special for the third time, his attention was mercifully taken from the dessert menu to the ringing of the bell attached to the entrance. A familiar blonde stepped in cheerily, waving to Linda.
In Jack's coffee deprived state, he couldn't remember where he had seen her. He shrugged to himself, not wanting to use anymore brain power, and went back to the menu, contemplating ordering a Dutch apple pie with an extra scoop of vanilla ice cream after he finished his bacon and tomato omelet.
But he couldn't concentrate on the words describing the delectable assortment of pie's Norm's Diner offered. The words kept running off the page tiredly.
He soon lifted his heavy eyes to the front of the diner where the woman was having a conversation with Linda, which was becoming much more interesting.
"How was your shift tonight, Love?"
The blonde sighed. "Busy. And I had to do more than usual after closing because my boss had to go to the emergency room."
Linda's eyes widened. "What happened?"
The blonde shook her head. "He somehow stabbed himself with a pair of scissors."
"Oh my." Linda said as she poured her a fresh cup of coffee. "Give me a minute dear, and I'll put you're order in. Will it be pancakes or waffles today?"
"Waffles."
Jack watched as Linda rounded the counter with a fresh pot of coffee and an empty coffee mug in hand and headed towards him.
It was apparent to Jack who the blonde woman was, especially when she explained to Linda what had happened to her boss' hand.
He wordlessly took the coffee mug from Linda and waited for her to top it off.
"Hey, did you get that stain out?"
Jack looked up again to find the pretty blonde hanging over the booth opposite of him. She was smiling at him, waiting for him to answer. "I haven't soaked it yet." He answered and took a needed sip of coffee.
"Woo," she admonished. "That shirt's as good as gone." She shook her head.
He looked up at her again, contemplating whether or not he wanted to engage in conversation with her, especially since she was radiating happiness. It was a rarity to come across somebody, especially in Gotham that seemed genuinely happy. He wasn't sure if this was annoying to him or if this interested him. The line of work he was in, it didn't allow him to come across many cheerful people. The only cheerful person he knew was Sammy, his best friend.
He wasn't one for small talk…but then again, he had nothing else better to do, other than memorize the flavors of pies there were. Giving up, he shrugged. "It's only a shirt. I'll buy another one."
She narrowed her eyes at him, as if she was trying to figure out what he was thinking, and then gave him a smirk. "Why'd you give me such a big tip?"
His head jerked up at her from surprise. She was very outgoing. It was either that or she was clueless.
He looked at her, studying her features. She was younger than him, but not by much and she was pretty. Her long blonde hair went past her shoulders and she had it tucked behind her ears, making her whole face visible. He reminded him of a typical 'girl next door'. She looked sweet…innocent even. Her blue eyes shined as she stared at him, and Jack knew she was hiding something behind the cheerfulness. Her smile, which made her look even more engaging, and to any other person on the street she seemed like a content and happy person. But, like Jack, she was hiding something behind the eye-crinkling smile.
This intrigued Jack.
He narrowed his eyes on her, thinking about her questions. In all honesty, he really wasn't sure why he gave her such a large tip. Maybe because he felt sorry for her, having to work for a sleaze ball like Tony. Or, maybe because she was being accosted by Cinnamon the stripper, and no one deserved that…or possibly because she was the first person to be nice to him in a long while.
And of course, Jack wasn't about to say this to a woman he barely knew, so he just kept silent and sipped his coffee.
She gave him the same look, as if she was trying to figure out just what he was thinking, but her bright smile appeared, yet again, as she outstretched her hand towards him. "My name's Jeannie."
Jack looked at her hand and then up at Jeannie, unenthusiastically, but finally shook it. "Jack."
"Nice to meet you Jack."
He couldn't help a small smile. "Has anybody told you that your happiness is annoying, especially at four in the morning?"
Her bright smile widened. "Yeah…it gets me into trouble." She shrugged and looked at the floor bashfully. "True story." She sighed. "Well!" She slapped the top of the booth. "I'll let you get back to your brooding and coffee. I'll see you around Jack." She turned around and called out to Linda. "Scratch the waffles, Linda! I've got to get home." She waved goodbye to Linda and gave Jack a friendly smile and left, but not before throwing some money on the counter and telling Linda that Jack's breakfast was on her, since she made a killing on tips.
The following days Jack worked.
On Sunday he trashed the home of Marv Cunningham, a man who owed $15,000 to Jack's employer.
Monday consisted of helping his friend Sammy, who was also employed by the same man, by disposing of a body of a woman. What she did to deserve to be shot, Jack didn't know, nor did he care.
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday he ran security for his boss, lurking through the streets of inner Gotham, making sure things were running smoothly , which was boring and uneventful.
When Friday rolled around at the end of the long week, it was time to collect from Tony.
Jack glided through security, and felt déjà vu when his ear drums felt as if they were about to burst with the loud thumping music, the repulsive men and women gyrating to the rhythm.
He wasted no time and went straight up to Tony's office. The door was open, so he entered, smirking when Tony didn't notice him.
"Good even-ing, Tony."
The shorter man jumped and yelped out in surprise and twisted around from the desk, where he was fumbling around with some paperwork. "J-Jack!" He said as he put his hand over his heart. "I didn't even hear you come in, you're like stealth."
Jack's brow perked up. "I know." He turned to the crappy couch and tossed a pile of folders to the floor to make room for himself to sit down. "I certainly hope you've got the money. Wouldn't want to kill you this fine evening." He deadpanned.
Tony nodded sullenly and wordlessly produced a worn black briefcase and put it next to jack on the couch. "All $135,00 plus interest. Cash."
"There's a good boy." He grabbed the case and opened it to make sure Tony was telling the truth. Satisfied, he closed the case up. "Nice doing business with you."
Tony looked at him nervously and brought his bandaged hand up to his chest. "Yeah. It's been a hoot."
Jack chuckled and stood up, and pointed to the boxes that seemed to have multiplied from the last time he was there. "What's with the boxes?"
"I'm sellin' the joint to Falcone. Getting out of the night club business and going into the used cars racket. Some good money to be had there."
"That so?" He drawled and grabbed the briefcase full of money. "Until next time." He smirked at him.
"Heh… yeah." Tony laughed nervously. "Why don't you go down and see Jeannie. Have a drink on me."
He contemplated the offer. "Be seeing you around Tony. Take care of that hand." Then headed down stairs to be swallowed up by the mass of people drunkenly dancing, making his way to the bar, searching out the blonde girl, who'd been distantly on his mind through the whole, long week.
It wasn't like he wanted to think about her. He'd be minding his own business and she'd just pop into his mind. She intrigued him. She intrigued him because she was a mystery to him. Jack had a knack for reading people…but Jeannie…Jeannie was different. Not necessarily unreadable, but she had layers like he did. He could tell she was hiding something, but he couldn't tell just what it was. Her happy demeanor seemed true, but it was laid on a little too thick. Plus, she took interest in him, which made him suspicious of her. Nobody took interest in him unless they wanted something from him or was trying to get to his boss through him.
He pushed his way through the crowd and swiped a seat at the bar, and waited for Jeannie to notice him.
beta'd by: SpringandbySummerFall
Huge thanks to my beta. Seriously, woman. You're amaze-ballz.