The Joker sauntered into the room, taking off his gloves. "Hello, sexy girl," he purred, his voice smooth as silk. Rachel was preparing lunch, busily chopping up veggies for a salad. She didn't acknowledge him other than to pointedly roll her eyes at his endearment.

He slipped his arms under hers from behind, and squeezed her tightly. He buried his face in her neck and gently bit down on the bare skin at the base, working his way up to her ear.

She tried to ignore him, but finally warned "You're not going to get any lunch if you keep that up."

"Mmm, that's ok…"

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Ha, not for lunch…"

"Now, behave yourself!! I'm starving…" Rachel playfully brandished the knife in Jack's direction. He deftly took it from her hand and brought it up flat against her throat for just a moment, waiting to see if she would gasp in fear. But she just made a sound of long-suffering aggravation. He started laughing, and, arms still around her, chin resting on her shoulder, began expertly slicing the cucumber, then the tomato, for their meal.

Rachel watched his hands, the bones and tendons working together in a sensuous dance as he manipulated the knife in and out of the firm flesh of the food. She lightly placed her own delicate hands on his, amazed at his dexterity and speed.

"You could have been a chef."

"Yeah, you want me in charge of the public's food…" He finished the task, put down the knife, and reached into his pocket. He dropped a small object down Rachel's blouse.

"Jack! What the…?"

Rachel fished the thing out of her bra and saw it was a small plastic circus bear, the kind that comes in a bag of animals from the dollar store. "Ah, for my collection…uh, thanks." she said. She was always bewildered by his gifts….

Somewhere along the way, the Joker had taken to bringing her odd little toys, mostly just cheap plastic such as might be included in a child's meal (did he actually buy the meals, or did he rip off some kid, she had wondered). Some were little animals, a horse, an elephant, a lion. Once, he brought her a lovely, delicate hand-painted ceramic figure, a ballerina in pirouette, and later, a clown. She thought they were probably expensive, if he actually paid for them. She kept the objects on the dresser by the bed and often pondered what they meant, if anything.

The Joker turned Rachel to face him. "Com'ere". He took her head in his hands and kissed her deeply, and she couldn't help but return his passion. He grasped her hands and started to lead her to the bed, but she protested "What about lunch?" "It'll keep," he answered impatiently, pulling her along. "Jack, stop it! It's the middle of the day! Can't you at least wait until after we eat?" She was laughing, trying hard to wrestle away from him. He was too strong, but he repeatedly let her just almost get away, pulling her back to him at the last moment, until they were both laughing and struggling by the bed.

"Ok, little lady, you have cleverly managed to wear me out. I give up." He threw himself on the bed in mock defeat, and after a moment, Rachel lay down next to him. She poked at him, as if to see if he was still alive. He pretended not to be, making her sit up on one elbow to look at him. He opened an eye and peered at her. "Flirt." he said accusingly. She grinned, and suddenly he grabbed her and pulled her on top of him. She shrieked, but once there, she kissed him.

He looked up at her, ran his hand along her face, and said quietly "How does it feel, kissing a freak?"

She was taken aback and searched his painted face for a clue—was he angry? What did he want her to say?

"I…I don't know…kind of weird, I guess…I haven't really thought about it…"

"Tell me, princess, if I was a…normal kind of guy…a mechanic…or…a lawyer…would you ever give me the time of day? Hmm?"

Rachel was getting a creepy feeling…where was this going?

"Jack, that's not fair. Who knows what would happen if things were different?"

"Ah, come on Rachel. A girl like you'd never look at me twice…you'd never want to be seen in public with a guy like me."

"What, a criminal? No, you're right. I wouldn't."

"I'm talking about this face…these scars. You'd never look past them..."

"Jack…I don't even know what to say to that. Maybe you're right. I hope not. I hope I'm not that shallow."

He was silent for a moment, then "If I didn't look like this…would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Be with me. Let's say Harvey wasn't around…"

"Jack…" This was taking a very bad turn.

"No, really, I'm not threatening him or anything. Just a hypothetical question. Would you?"

"I don't think…I don't think I've seen your best side, Jack. I should hate you; but I can't help but like you sometimes. I like the guy that makes me laugh, and takes me up on the roof to see the city at night. But I hate what you've done—you've killed people—I hate… the Joker." She said that name softly, as if it were a forbidden word.

The Joker pursed his lips and nodded. No surprises, there. At least she's got the balls to be honest.

He pushed her off of him, swung his legs off the bed and began removing his jacket and shirt. "Take off your clothes." he ordered flatly. She sensed a mood shift, from good-humored to distant, realized there was now something…unsettled about him.

He got on top of her, not bothering to take off his trousers, and unceremoniously entered her, hard. He didn't seem to expect anything from her, other than that she lie submissively underneath him.

His need for her seemed to go on a long time, and she was getting tired. It irritated Rachel when he was like this—disconnected, almost mechanical—she felt like she could just as easily be an anonymous whore, or a vinyl blow-up doll, as far as he was concerned.

She saw on his face a look of frustration. Sometimes he seemed to have a difficult time finishing, and he usually asked for some kind of pain, her teeth, or nails down his back, and that would take care of the problem. She didn't dare to take the initiative, but she wasn't surprised when he whispered "Bite me. Hard."

She lifted her head up, buried her face in his neck, and gave him a sharp nip; he smelled like fresh sweat, and the outdoors. He moaned approvingly, then ordered, "Use your nails." She ran her fingernails down his back and he said "Harder." She did it again, applying more pressure, digging them in at his waist, when suddenly he reared back, raised his hand as if to strike her, and hissed "Dammit, bring blood or I will…"

Rachel was frightened by his sudden fury, but it had the desired effect. She unthinkingly dragged her nails down his back, harder than she had ever done, felt the flesh shredding, leaving some under her nails, a violent act she would never have initiated herself.

"Again" the Joker ordered harshly, and she complied. She didn't like the way this was making her feel, but he resumed his thrusting, and she was profoundly relieved when he finally groaned in orgasm. He lowered himself onto her, wearily allowing her to take his full weight, and became still. His breath was coming in short gasps; he rolled off of her onto his back for a few moments, then turned on his side, away from her.

Rachel sat up and could see the raised welts she had left, terminating in little rivulets of blood. She couldn't stand the way her hands felt and she got up to wash them; afterward, she collected hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, antibiotic cream, and bandages from his well-stocked first aid supply, and returned to the bed.

She began tending to the wounds she had inflicted, and he shifted irritably—"Leave them." he ordered.

"No," she refused. "They could get infected. Just lie still."

She cleaned the wounds and applied the cream, and then a bandage. He lay quietly, accepting her ministrations without further protest.

She dressed, put away the supplies, and silently finished making lunch.