A/N: Like many, many other people, I was absolutely fascinated with the Joker – particularly the way Heath portrayed him in TDK. I wanted to know more about his past, but I also wanted more interaction between him and others in the present, thus – flashbacks! And for those who think "The Joker could never be like this" or "the Joker would never do that" – remember that the person he use to be could have been entirely different, and so he is in this story (although definitely heading down the path to destruction). If you go to PopCritics and search for "heath scars," you can see a pic of him with the scars minus the joker makeup. That's where I got my inspiration! There will also be a little bit of Joker/Rachel later on, but not in a fluffy way…at least I don't think!

Chapter One

For some inhabitants of Gotham City, nighttime was not just a hollow space of a day, but rather a way of life. It was a time when criminals thrived in their sins, scores were settled, debtors were reprimanded, and those masked vigilantes who challenged the balance of justice waged a nightly battle between good and evil. It was just such a man, or creature, of the night, who would retire to his lofty penthouse with only the scars and fatigue to show for his unusual, "extracurricular" activities. He could rest his head upon the finest of imported Persian linen and drift off to sleep in the early morning hours with the notion that he had won a small battle in an ongoing war for Gotham's soul. True – some of his actions had arisen as questionable in the eyes of the authorities, but Bruce Wayne told himself it was for the greater good. The division between right and wrong had become too fuzzy with only the Gotham City Police Deparment for them to properly protect its citizens, and it was up to the Batman to redefine those lines. He was the good guy, the hero, the saviour of Gotham. Yes, people like Bruce were entirely merited in their slumber, But for one other individual in particular, sleep was much more elusive - and for good reason…

The stagnant air in the tiny Gotham flat forced beads of sweat to form on the man-known-as-the-Joker's forehead. Streaks of white melted down the sides of his face and stained the dingy cot mattress his tall frame was rested upon. He cursed under his breath at the realization that switching on the two-speed fan that rested next to him didn't seem to alleviate his discomfort very much, and he slammed one foot against the wall in disgust. A high-pitched squeaking caught his attention in the corner of the room, followed by frantic scratching against the floorboards. The paint puckered and creased on his face as his brow furrowed in displeasure. He sat up quickly and began scanning the darkness for the culprit – a rat that had claimed residency long before its current human occupant.

"Ah-hah!" The Joker exclaimed with devilish glee. Reaching forward, he grabbed a small dagger that had been stashed in his boot and deftly launched it deep into the filthy rodent, pinning it's squealing body to the wall before it fell silent and still.

"Gotcha – little bastard. Nothing personal, though." The springs screeched loudly as he fell back against the cot with a thud. The dark makeup around his bloodshot eyes concealed deep hollows that came from many sleepless nights. His eyes fluttered for a moment as he fought back sleep that was trying so hard to overtake him. He had been resolute in his alertness for quite a while now, but it was beginning to become clear that three days without sleep was his breaking point – even for a deranged felon like himself. Another flutter. He shook his head and slapped his cheek roughly to keep focused.

"Come on!" he growled lowly to himself. The gentle whir of the fan was becoming hypnotic, however, and he soon found himself slowly falling into that sweet, heady darkness that enveloped him head to toe. Damn, damn, damn! He thought to himself. Dreams to him were always nightmares because he could not manipulate fact as he so often did in real life. It was not only sleep that wanted to overtake him, but also his former self who tortured him with painful truths and bittersweet memories. Truths he did not want to ever admit to himself. His tongue traced his lips in habit before he finally gave in completely and allowed the memories to come flooding back – just as they always did.

"Jack?" A woman's voice calls down the hallway. Silence follows. "Jack!"

"Jack!?" The voice summons again, this time with a profound sense of urgency in her tone. "Jack, come here! Hurry! HURRY!" The moment the cries were heard, the command was met by rapid footsteps that shook the tiny apartment like the Gotham earthquake of '94.

"What? What is it?" He shouted back as he approached the source of distress. Jack Napier's throat tightened and his heart began beating wildly as he came upon his wife leaning with one hand against the bathroom sink, the other resting on her 6-month-pregnant belly. She stood with her back towards him, her shoulders hunched forward slightly as if she were struggling to regain her balance. He had found her like this many times before – each time leading to another painful stint in Gotham City General, another complication, another heartache. The fear that this was just such another incident momentarily held him fast where he stood. The bathroom was in fact so small, the sink, toilet, and shower were all within two feet of each other, so in only two backwards steps, Jeannie rested herself on the side of the tub with a deep outward breath. Upon sensing her husband's presence in the door frame, she turned towards him.

The look of dread that was so painfully present on Jack's face soon melted into confusion as Jeannie lifted her angelic face to reveal a brilliant smile and large blue eyes that glistened with tears of joy. With an awkward snort of a laugh, Jack rushed towards his wife, sitting himself on the toilet in front of her and cupping her face in his hands. His mouth was dry, and he wetted his lips repeatedly with his tongue before he could speak. Moments like these made the scars that crept up from the corner of his mouth seem tighter than ever. Bloody Glasgow smile.

"Look at me. Tell-tell me what's wrong." He said quietly but firmly through another swipe of his tongue, gently brushing back the dark hairs that fell over her rosy cheeks. Jeannie's smile grew even wider as she grabbed the back of one of his hands and redirected it to the apex of her belly. A single tear fell down the side of her face as she answered, and she pressed him closer to her, guiding his fingers to the right spot. "I felt him! I felt him move! I was just washing my face when I felt something inside…it's the first time since…well, since before the hospital. See!"

Jeannie stopped abruptly, sitting up tall, and stilling his hand. "Can you feel him? Strong little thing, too."

It took a moment for Jack to concentrate and what he was being asked to feel, since he was in such awe of his beautiful wife's expression of complete and utter delight. Then the flutter came from underneath his palm, triggering a smile that forced his ghastly scars upwards. But for once, those constant reminders of his own father were the last things on his mind.

"Wow. Jeannie…" He mouthed, placing both hands above their unborn child and taking a ragged sigh of relief.

"Yeah…wow." Jeannie sniffed. She was at a complete loss for words. For weeks since the accident the baby had been still, and the doctors had feared the worst. Such a sign of life sent a flood of emotions over her.

"And to see you smile again. You're always so worried for me – for the baby." She rested her hand on his face paled by years of factory work under the cloak of Gotham's darkness. His scars never bothered her, although she knew her husband did not always believe it when she told him so. When she began to sob quietly, Jack pulled her close to his chest, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead as he spoke to her softly. Jeannie clung tightly to his ratty plaid jacket and allowed herself to melt into his comforting words, even if he was saying it more to convince himself.

"We're going to be okay. I'm working on a way for it all to be okay."

There was silence for a moment as she pulled herself away from his warmth and looked deeply into his eyes with trepidation, shaking her head slowly. "God, Jack – please don't tell me you're going to get involved with them again. I thought we agreed. You promised me last time was it. You don't mess with these people. If you get too far into this…"

Jack stood up quickly and turned away, running his hands through his hair that hadn't seen scissors for quite some time and clasping them behind his head. "I don't have a choice. We need the money. Everything is taken care of."

Jeannie got up as well, placing her hands on his sides. "Please, Jack. I'm begging you. Don't do this. We'll find another way."

"NO! And that's final!" He roared as he slapped her hands away, his tone making Jeannie jump back slightly. It was quiet for a few agonizing moments, and Jack lowered his eyes so he did not have to see the new tears that were forming in his wife's eyes. These, however, were not tears of joy. She bit her lip in an effort to conceal her pain.

His voice became softer and gentler as he reached for her hand. "I'm sorry. I…" Another lick of the lips before he could continue. "You don't know what it's like for me. You don't know what it's like to be a – joke – to be a considered a cheap, expendable function in a game I know I was born to run." Jack's hand ran up the length of her arms and rested on her shoulders. "You have to trust me. You have to give me the chance to take care of you – and the baby. Can you do that?"

A muscle in his jaw clenched as he waited. Being that her husband was much taller than she was, Jeannie had to pull gently forward on the breast of his jacket to bring him close to kiss. That was all the answer that he needed. He eagerly reciprocated the gesture, pulling her as close as possible at this point in her pregnancy and engulfed her mouth with his own. He could still taste the saltiness of her tears, and vowed from that moment on he would never again make her cry. After a few moments, Jack reluctantly pulled away, pushing his forehead against hers as he held her face in his hands. Jeannie sniffled quietly as his mouth grazed her ear.

"I love you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

This was always the moment where the first dream ended and the rest of the nightmares began. The Joker awoke abruptly, taking a moment to adjust to his surroundings and realize what he had experienced was indeed real, yet far behind this realm of time. He sat up on the cot, his face a blank canvas void of any expression despite the makeup that covered it. Swallowing hard, he turned his head slowly towards the opposite end of what use to be a quaint living room. His mind became transfixed on a single empty spot on the floor, and he began licking his lips repeatedly. It was his punishment for making a deal with the devil, he believed, that God had engrained every single detail about what happened there in his memory. He silently cursed God, cursed the world, cursed Batman, but mostly – himself for letting it all happen in the first place…