Author's Note: Thank you for all of the great reviews. Enjoy this new chapter!

Strange Musings and Aches at Dawn

Midnight.

Here come old flattop, he come grooving up slowly

He got joo-joo eyeball, he one holy roller

He got hair down to his knee

Got to be a Joker he just do what he please

The menacing roar of a V8 engine echoed down the alleyways of Gotham, as the Joker sped through the Narrows, driving his deep purple and highly modified 1973 Plymouth Cuda. One black gloved hand gripped the wheel, the other on the gear shift as he rocked his head to the beat of The Beatles' Come Together. Wind gust through the open window as he turned down a back alley, cooling his skin and filtering through his acid green waves. Darting out into the street, he passed a working streetlamp. Soft orange light shined down upon the car illuminating his war-painted face before he was consumed by darkness once more.

It was a rush driving by moonlight, you didn't know what was in front of you until you either passed or ran right through it.

In the middle of the alley, a tiny cluster of homeless people was warming themselves by a barrel fire. A gentle rumble was heard and one homeless man saw a gleam from the corner of his eye. Moonlight filtered through the uneven spaces in the buildings and squinting his eyes, he could make out the sleek silhouette of the Joker's vehicle in the distance. As the car neared, the rumble grew to a thundering roar.

"Move!" He shouted. "Quick, we have to move!"

Some scurried off to the sides a few, however, remained rooted in place, too afraid to flee. Where could they go? The alley itself was too narrow and even if they ran they couldn't get very far.

The Joker didn't so much as bat an eyelash. In fact, he stepped down harder on the gas. Newspapers, cans, bottles, and tattered clothing flew into the air. Luckily for all those present, they were just inches out of harm's way and didn't sustain any serious damage other than slight aches and pains when they flung themselves into the asphalt for cover.

"Bastard!" One shouted.

"Asshole!" Cried another.

"You son of a..." Their cries of outrage were quickly silenced when his cackle drifted to them on the night wind.

Turning sharply in next alley the Joker cut off the engine. A gentle click, click, clicking sounded as the engine began to cool. Cracking his neck, he raked back his hair, tongue trailing over his lips. As odd as it was, he had grown to love the taste over the years.

Stepping out of the car, the frigid night air stung his scarred cheeks and whipped back his hair, causing his purple trench coat to billow out around him. The pale silver glow of the moon made the white of his paint brighter, the red glisten, and the black around his eyes appear like two gaping holes. Letting his head fall back, he ran his tongue along his scars savoring the taste once more and enjoying the stillness of the night. In a matter of seconds, he heard the sound of Scorecard's Hummer and opened his eyes. Red-orange flames gazed into the dark sky, burning brighter than any star.

I hope you haven't forgotten, tonight is the night that the Joker slays a demon... or twenty. As the massacre ahead is a personal vendetta there has been a slight change in his attire. His green waist coast has been traded for black, as it is a solemn occasion, and against his better judgment, the blue hexagonal silk shirt has been replaced for emerald green and a bull's eyes design.

Ducking back inside the car, he popped the latch for the trunk. Slamming the door closed behind him, the heels of his boots clicked along the wet asphalt, echoing through the silent alley. Reaching inside his coat pocket, he removed a Glock 17 and rummaged around, searching, for a 33 round magazine. The all too familiar clicking rang out as he loaded the clip and he chuckled darkly. Some things never got old.

"Get ready," he rasped when Scorecard and Tom exited the hummer.

Peering inside the trunk of his car his eyes grew brighter. Black gloved fingertips trailed over the black strap of one exceedingly large case. "Hello, beautiful," he sang.

"Is that what I think it is?" Scorecard asked in disbelief.

"You'll find out soon enough, Michael."

Smacking his lips the Joker spun around to face them. Though both men grew up with him, one even his senior, they couldn't help but to stiffen or feel the trickle of fear that raced down their spines. He didn't look murderous but empty, like a hollow shell that wanted to be filled with chaos, death, and destruction.

"Remember," he cautioned, voice darkening as the unearthly glow in his eyes deepened, "I want that image destroyed. Claw at it, slice it with a knife, use your teeth, or riddle it with holes. Whatever you need to do, do it to them all." Biting on his scars he waited for their nod of understanding. "And," he drawled, hunching his shoulders forward so his chin rested on his chest, "leave Castillo alive. He's mine."

There's only one way to kill the father of demons and the Joker knows how.

Nestled in-between two dilapidated buildings is an old brownstone apartment acting as The Risen Demon's hideout. Though relatively small—no more than a 100—what they lack in size they make up for in brutality. Like most who come to Gotham, they are determined to make a name for themselves, and so they do whatever they can to leave their mark: rape, extortion, murder, theft, the list goes on. As much enthusiasm as they have, they are what the Joker likes to call sweetly fragmented; hooked and divided on their own supply of narcotics. As a result, they are entranced by the grand allure of crime, slaves to drugs they trade and consume, and left chasing after the innate charisma that only men like the Joker can possess. Sweetly fragmented. This slaying will be the equivalent of taking candy from a baby, so easy and so... sweet.

Outside Javier stood guard smoking a cigarette, fighting back a groan against the chill in the air. Dingy light shined down upon him making his scowl clearly visible to the three men who stood in the shadows. Leaning against the wall he rubbed his shaved head, nails raking along his scalp, his booted foot resting against the wall.

"This shit is for the fuckin dogs," he muttered, tapping his ashes onto the porch floor.

Light spilled out onto the street and was blocked momentarily by Elizabeth. Drawn in by her older brother, Elizabeth is a runner; she carries either drugs or cash to and from the house, moving unseen by Gotham PD.

At the sight of her Javier's dark brown eyes immediately grew lustful. While Elizabeth isn't a raving beauty like Castillo's girl, she's stacked in all the right places. Dressed in a black halter top and jeans, Javier nodded his head in appreciation, raking his eyes over her ample breasts and ass.

"Aw, don't be like that," he chided playfully when she rolled her eyes in disgust to find him ogling her. "You know you like me," he drawled, blowing smoke rings her direction.

A black eyebrow arched as she eyed him up and down. Though cute, Javier was a fuckin psycho just like her brother. Popping her gum she tore her eyes away from him, tossing her hair over her shoulder in agitation.

"You still waitin' on, Cruz?"

Gray wisps of smoke floated out into the night as he waited for her answer. Cruz was always late. The only thing he was ever on time for was his death, the Joker had seen to that personally.

"Why you wanna know?" She asked tartly when he repeated his question, snapping her head around to face him.

"Damn, I'm just askin' you a question," he stated defensively, voice growing hard.

"I don't need you asking me questions or talking to me. So mind your fucking business and do your job, watchdog."

The cigarette flew into the air as he pushed away from the wall, eyes blazing with anger. "You watch how you talk to me bitch!" Elizabeth ignored him. Lashing out he gripped her arm, spinning her around to face him. "Don't put your hands on me. Are you crazy?" She shouted shoving at his chest.

Elizabeth cried out when gripped her throat. "You better start treating me with some respect," he said darkly, coming in close until they were a breath apart. "Rumor has it, your brother is on the chopping block and I'm moving up. So, if you don't want this dog to bite," he said, chomping down hard on his teeth and making her flinch, "you better learn to play nice."

"That's funny," a voice remarked in the darkness, "playing nice is something you boys just don't know how to do." Both of them snapped their heads in the direction of the voice.

It was a thing of nightmares really. As if summoned by magic, a fading streetlight surged to life shining brighter than ever, drenching the man in purple with dazzling light. In that moment, the Joker looked every bit like a devil; a devil who had come to slay demons of a lower rank.

Javier's eyes fell to the large case slung over the Joker's shoulders before darting to the gun in his hand. Elizabeth screamed, tears falling down her cheeks, as Javier yanked on her neck, pulling her in front of him, using her as a human shield.

The bullets pierced right through her flesh and landed in his neck. He fell down gurgling, clutching at his throat, blood oozing between his fingers. Javier stared around him with glazed eyes, spitting up blood in an attempt to clear his throat so he could breathe. Purple pinstripe pants came into view and his eyes darted up. Gripping his neck, he stared at the Joker in horror.

Click.

Stomping down on his head with his other foot, Joker pressed down and pulled the blade free. Thick blood coated the blade and he used the man's shirt to wipe it clean. Clicking his heel, the now clean blade retracted with ease.

Digging into his coat pocket he hummed merrily to the tune of screams and shouts that erupted from within the brownstone. Two clicks followed and the front door was pulled open as two small objects were tossed inside, directly at a few demons who were headed his way. "Kill that motherfucker!"

Calm as ever he glided across the porch and waited.

Glass shot out into the street and fire erupted from the windows. A body on fire flew out the front door and the building lurched. The Joker leaned into the rocking motion, head falling back as his waves blew in the breeze. Licking his lips, he stared up at the sky calm as could be as agonized screams filled the air.

"Help!"

"What the fuck was that homes?"

"They're dead... they're all fucking dead!"

"...he's stuck. Help me pull him out!"

"Who did it? Who the fuck did it?!" Shouts erupted as people were torn between putting out the flames and firing their guns into the darkness at the unknown.

"Time to let Old Painless out of the bag."

The massive black case fell to the floor. Eyes gleaming like a madman, the Joker gripped in his hand an M134 Minigun; it is a six-barrel, air-cooled, electrically driven rotary machine gun, and fires 100 rounds per second. It is more than enough to invoke fear, level their building, and erase their name.

Batman's cape flew out around him as he peered down at the carnage from the rooftops. Even from as high up as he was he could still hear the reporters retching in the street. While Gotham City is no doubt a criminal's haven and crime is aplenty, no one had expected the sheer brutality of the crime before them.

Down below firefighters cut off the water as the last of the flames were put out. Reporters swayed on their feet, the scent of gasoline and burning flesh wafting toward them once more. It only took one. Soon the retching began all over again.

Soft clicks went off, one by one as flashlights were turned on. Cops searched the wreckage looking not for clues, but for bodies. Who needs to search for clues about the man responsible when floating along the breeze were hundreds of Joker cards.

Walking along the sidewalk, a rookie cop removed his cap, wiping away beads of sweat with his arm. His stomach was still doing summersaults yet he had managed to control the urge to dry heave. Wide brown eyes peered over at his mentor. "I can't believe it," he said wobbly. "Some of them have their tattoos cut right off their backs," he whispered fearfully. "And the lot of 'em are just... torn to shreds—just riddled with holes. What the hell did he have that housed so much fire power?"

The veteran wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. He wasn't so lucky when it came to controlling the contents of his stomach. Fanning his face with his cap, he merely shrugged his shoulders. "Hell if I should know," he muttered, eyes bloodshot. "What I want to know is if he's the only one missing a head!"

Suspended from a streetlamp by his foot was a headless demon. The corpse belongs to the founder of the gang, Castillo Medina. When they take down his body they will find that he has a broken left arm, bruised tailbone, back, and thigh, all of the same injuries as Marceline, minus the head and a few dozen cuts of course.

Batman's eyes darted back and forth watching as the body swung in the breeze, blood dripping out onto the concrete. Fury and disgust gripped him and he clenched his hands into tight fists. All of them had failed to protect her Lucius, himself, Richard... everyone. Turning away from the chaos he moved silently across the rooftop, his thoughts drifting back to the alley.

After he tracked Marceline's cell phone he found Richard barely conscious. When the man came to in the hospital all he could say were four words, 'The Joker has her,' followed by three more, 'I'm so sorry.' One look at him and they knew he tried his best, however, anger set in. Lucius Fox demanded to know why he had let Marceline run off, why he didn't use her phone to inform anyone of their whereabouts. The answer Richard gave didn't make sense 'I couldn't,' he said weakly, eyes glazed over in pain. 'She told me not to move and to keep q-quiet.' Bruce had immediately lashed out at the man, calling him every name in the book, telling him that he was nothing more than a Goddamn coward. Through it all a look of intense dread came over Lucius Fox features which they all believed to be shock. Shock at knowing that his daughter was in the hands of a madman. Because it couldn't be anything more, right?

Snapping back to the present Batman raced out into the night, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, searching, and letting no stone go unturned. Wherever Marceline was he would find her and he wouldn't rest until she was found. And if the moment came, if Marceline appeared to resemble anything like the carnage he had just witnessed, he would have no problem breaking his most precious rule. Because after all is said and done, he wasn't just the people's champion but a Dark Knight.

Just Before Dawn

Tawney eyes stared out the window and into the cool dark sky watching as soft hues of blue, grey, and white filtered through the clouds making room for the rising sun as dawn fast approached. With each ray of light that emerged Marceline felt as though her spirit were being pulled further back into darkness. So desperately she wanted to extend her hand, to touch the dawn that eluded her but she was so... tired.

After crying an ocean of tears, there was nothing left but fatigue. Succumbing to the heaviness, her lashes fluttered lids drifting down. It was odd. As tired as her body was, her mind was buzzing with activity and all she could think about was the Joker and her newly acquired debt.

...

With all that was in him, he wanted so desperately to return her sentiment, to strike her as she had struck him. Glowering into her eyes, he shook with wanting. Marceline's declaration of 'I hate you,' is what pushed him over the edge. There were no words to describe the ache—he ached. For the first time ever he experienced a deeply physically, slightly emotional, and highly mental... anguish. No heat, warmth, or pull of the river held him back, just his word that had been given and the startling realization that this woman and her cruel verse could make him ache.

Blood ran down the Joker's arm filling the jagged crevices and tiny half-moon crescents that Marceline had made. Oblivious to the sting his sharp amber eyes darted over her petrified visage. He was unable to focus, in the deepest parts of him he could still feel that lingering ache. He couldn't figure out why he was so perturbed by three little words, or why his insides twisted, and clenched, making him feel as though he were seconds away from imploding. It was so... different.

The true reason for his inability to concentrate was what had been revealed to him through touch. How astonishing it was to realize that he held in his hands both the cause and cure of his physical and emotional turmoil. With his hands stills clasped around her neck he felt the ache of her words, yet at the same time that delectable white, hot heat that spiraled through him whenever he snuck a touch or a kiss. That heat dulled the pain and his senses, leaving him every bit as awestruck as he sounded when he said, quite breathlessly, "What are you?"

Taken back by his inquiry wide eyes snapped up to his face, her nails curling into his chest as she fisted the material of his shirt. "I d-don't know what you...m-mean," she choked out at last. "Hm," he returned. Slowly he tilted his head to the side, acid green waves spilling out upon his face, his thumb running along the slender column of her neck. While he believed her he knew there was more to the story.

Marceline's mind was in as much of a whirlwind as his own. Minutes ago he had wanted to strangle her and now, well, now he was staring at her as though seeing her for the first time, looking bewildered, yet concerned. Is this what I'll be forced to go through? A series of manic episodes. When a tear escaped and fell on his hand, the thumb which had been running along the curve of her neck stilled, and he inhaled sharply. Abruptly he released her, the force of the movement causing her to jerk and slam into the trunk with her back. When she cried out his gut clenched agonizingly and he reached for her.

"No!" She screamed, slapping his hands away and shoving at his chest with all her might. "Get away from me!"

It was as though an unseen force took control of his body. With a low growl, the Joker surged to his feet, twin fires breaking out as he glided across the hardwood floor, keeping her in his sights with every backward step he took. Just... give her some... time. It was only when his back collided into the brick wall that he began to wonder if he moved because she had commanded it, or because he wanted to.

Pushing hard off the ground she grit her teeth as searing pain coursed down her spine to her lower back. Thigh throbbing, head spinning, she rose to her feet on shaky legs. Unsteady as she was she immediately lost her balance. Lashing out she clutched the chains of the hanging lanterns to steady herself.

Joker's eyes darted back and forth, watching as Marceline became a live human pendulum. When she nearly lost her grasp he flinched—yes, that right, he flinched. Biting down on his scars he pushed away from the wall. "Marceline," he spoke softly, his voice snaking its way through the cracks of her fear and gaining her attention. "It's going to be alright," he affirmed.

As if it were a staged joke Marceline stopped swaying, narrowed her eyes and gave him a look that would have had a lesser man crumbling.

Smacking his lips loudly in response his eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Ok," he began when her glower intensified, "I deserve that," he agreed, nodding his head for emphasis. "However, cupcake, you will need to release that chain eventually and when you do, I'll still be here. Now I know I broke my word, but understand that it was never my intention to do so," he stated firmly, holding her gaze.

When Marceline made no further movement, just continued to stare at him as though he had lost his mind he took another step forward. Snapping out of her daze, she released the chain. Taking a hasty first step she stumbled into the wall with a grunt.

Violently he raked his hair back, coating the strands with the blood that trailed down his arm, dripping some onto his shirt and cheek. It took every effort not to shout in frustration. Trailing his tongue along his scars, he stared at her through half lidded eyes, watching as she used the wall to walk. "Are you going to scale the perimeter of the room?" He drawled sarcastically.

"Shut up, Joker." He let the barb slide.

Clenching his jaw, he rested his hands on hips, rolling back on the balls of his feet following her with his eyes. Every fiber in his body was screaming for him to go to her yet he was rooted in place, held prisoner by some unseen barrier. Of course, it's her compulsion but he doesn't know that. In such a moment, he wouldn't dare entertain the possibility that supernatural forces were at work. All he could do was see her terrified expression, glimpse the rapidly forming bruises on her neck, and feel his gut tighten. He believed, more than anything, that it was... No.

Staggered he retraced his steps and leaned heavily into the wall, the bricks digging into his back. Amber eyes stared past the trembling woman before him and at something he couldn't see. Guilt. He felt... guilty. In his mind, it was his own guilt holding him back not her words. This was profoundly out of character. It wasn't even deserved, wasn't it her fault? Had she not struck him first he wouldn't have... It didn't matter. It was still there. Every second he reflected upon his hands wrapped around her neck and the intense desire he felt to strangle her, he felt... ashamed. After so many years, he had finally given his word and he broke it. He was no better than his...

Snapping back to the present, the Joker barely had enough time to duck out of the way before he was hit. A light rain sounded as tiny pearls fell onto the floor along with bits of bone. The skull was just the first of many objects available to her. As soon as he raised his head, a small Moroccan lantern sailed toward him.

"Marceline!" He roared furiously as glass and metal poured out across the room and over his person. Fuming he shook his head furiously, pearls and small bits of glass escaping from his waves. Ruffling through his hair, he removed a piece of glass. Sharp eyes peered at the fragment before drifting over to the woman responsible.

Marceline leaned heavily against the metal shelf glaring at the man who was the cause of all her misfortunes in the past 48 hours. Her face was flushed, eyes bright, and her hair pointing every which way. A gentle creak sounded as the lantern in her hand swung to and fro, and gripping it tighter, she prepared to throw it.

Dazzling light filtered through his eyes causing them to shimmer and glow like the dawn. Oh, don't get me wrong, he's livid, however, his Siren is... spirited. A giddiness came over him then. It was the feeling that came when he was seconds away from pulling the trigger, pressing a detonator, or twisting a knife, and he smiled. Marceline didn't like that. Not. One. Bit.

The lantern was thrown. It sailed into the air, blowing back acid green waves, as it crashed into the brick wall. "Darlin, if you keep this up you'll run out of things to throw. Unless of course, you plan on tossing yourself over here." Scars stretched high across his cheeks as his smile widened. "If that's the case then I'm your Huckleberry," he stated sweetly, voice heavily accented.

"I can't stand you," she told him murderously.

"That's fine," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Whether you can or cannot stand me, you think of me and I'll take whatever I can get."

Without looking, she grabbed the next object. Because he secretly calls her a Siren he stumbled across a sphere paperweight with an ocean wave inside and tucked it away on her shelf. Had he known his impromptu theft would become a potential murder weapon, he would have placed it in his office instead.

Tawny eyes glided over to his left temple before coming back to his face. Unknowingly she had given herself away. When he dared to grin once more and revealed a mocking dimple she saw red. Pulling back her arm she threw the heavy paperweight with everything she had.

Joker really thought he had her figured out. He knew nothing of her speed or precision and furthermore, he had forgotten that misdirection was the oldest trick in the book.

The paperweight was not his murder weapon, but a destroyer of future generations.

Biting down hard on his scars he groaned, shoulders hunching forward and his hands snaking toward his groin. There was no way for him to catch it or move out of the way, it was simply too fast and damn it all if she didn't have an arm on her. Squeezing his eyes shut he pushed back the pain, anger, and most of all the desire to throw her from the fucking window. You gave her your word, he repeated steadily.

It was foolish on his part to close his eyes. Just as they opened he saw something shiny and oblong rotating, heading straight for him.

Time literally froze as the melted clock collided with his face. His head was thrown back, hair flying out around him as blood spurt through the air. Arms flailing at his sides as he stumbled backward, trying to steady himself. Searing pain radiated from the center of his face outward and fury bubbled up inside, threatening to choke him as his heartbeat pounded like drums in his ears. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth as he had bit down hard on his scars from impact and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Staring at the blood, he knew he had only seconds to decide whether or not he was truly a man of his word.

"You... hit me," he ground out, "...in the face... with a clock?" he rasped hitting the K hard, blood dribbling down his chin as he spoke.

Not knowing what to do Marceline nodded her head.

At that, he chuckled darkly. "Makin' time s-stand... still... in more ways... than... one."

The room spun as he took a step forward, stars dancing before him. Closing his eyes, he brought his hands to his temples and rubbed them in small circles. Gentle clinks pierced his ears. Amber eyes flew open. "Do. Not. Throw. That."

The vase fell from her grasp and shattered onto the floor at her feet.

"Good," he affirmed, nodding his head in approval. Glaring furiously at her, he took a stumbling step over to the bed.

"Now," he began, sitting on the edge of the bed as he shrugged out of his vest. "I believe that after what just occurred," he shuddering slightly as he remembered the hit to his manly areas, "that you can trust me when I say, for the last time, that I will not hurt you." Red arcs appeared on the plains of his face as he used his vest to wipe up the blood.

A few heartbeats, maybe it was minutes, passed by before he spoke again. "Sit down."

Marceline froze from tiptoeing over the broken glass. The Joker was now leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. Trailing his tongue along his lips, he could taste the metallic coppery taste of his blood and his eyes flashed. Nodding his head to the chaise lounge, he repeated his words. "Sit. Down." Something in the way he said those two words left no room for argument.

Dark curls fell in front of her face as she returned her gaze to the floor. Glass, metal, and pearls covered the area. Biting her lips she debated between following his command and throwing herself from the window.

The decision was made for her.

Marceline gasped. Without warning, the Joker lifted her into his arms and cradled her to his chest. Not sparing her a glance and ignoring her bellow of outrage, he placed her on the lounge.

Towering above her, he ran his thumbs up and down his burgundy and green suspenders, head tilted to the side as he studied her. When she dared to glare at him, he gifted her with a smile. Marceline blanched. His smile, while no doubt devilishly handsome, was spectacularly morbid due to the blood that stained his teeth. Chuckling at her disgust, his smile widened revealing his dimples.

"Alright, Darlin, old rules out new rules in. Rule number one, no throwing things," he instructed with yet another shudder. "Rule number two, you address me as Jack from here on out, and rule number three, you owe me a painting for every piece of clothing, furniture, and decor that you've ruined." Weary eyes looked over the once pristine room that now mirrored a small battlefield. When she opened her mouth to speak he held up a hand for her to be silent. "This isn't a choice anymore," he stated firmly, amber eyes boring into her own, "but a debt. And that debt is fulfilled when I'm satisfied with the paintings I've received as payment."

Finished stating "the rules," he turned on his heel and retrieved his soiled vest. Everyone movement on his part was stiff. If he stayed in her presence for a second longer he would snap.

Class crunched under his footsteps and Marceline sat on the chaise lounge fuming, burning a hole into his broad back as she struggled to hold back her tears. "What about my family?" She asked when he opened the door.

"They don't exist to me."

Dawn

The door opened and closed without a sound.

Moving stealthily on purple and green argyle-socked feet, the Joker glided across the hardwood floor to her bed. With every step, the pain lessened. Though it didn't diminish completely, it became bearable. Now, more than ever, he realized that she had a... hold... on him. Either that or he was becoming completely soft and that was not something he was ready to admit to. Not yet at least.

Stepping over the broken glass that still littered the room he plucked the purple pillow off the floor, and checking for glass, set it back on the bed, laying down beside her. Early morning rays shined through the room setting fire to her hair and skin. When he saw her tear stained cheeks his stomach tightened. Tasting blood, the Joker released his scars, not even aware that he had been biting them. Why was it so disheartening to know that she had cried herself to sleep?

What am I doing with you? As though hearing him Marceline frowned in her sleep and rolled onto her back. Avoiding me even in sleep. Raking back his damp locks, his nails scraped along his scalp and he sighed.

Propping himself up on his arm he pushed back her dark brown curls. Unable to resist he twirled a coil around his finger. Leaning over her, he peered over her skin eyeing the dark bruises on her neck and was nearly pulled under by his own self-loathing. His fingertips were as light as a butterfly's wings as he trailed them along her skin and across the dark purple splotches. Instantly he felt the heat appear. It flowed steadily throughout his body, covering the ache and soothing his troubled mind.

When he pulled away the ache returned.

Damp waves fell over his face as he tilted his head to the side. Running his fingers along her jaw, the heat returned, traveling up his arm, and flooding his core. Marceline inhaled sharply, her eyes moving rapidly behind her lids, lashes fluttering as though she were on the cusp of awakening. Reaching out he cupped her cheek causing her to still. Seconds ticked by and she seemed to be at war with herself. Finally, she gave in and pressed into the palm of his hand with a sigh. The heat intensified until his body was on fire. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to remove his hand. At her drowsy acceptance, his ache was removed and the Joker felt nothing of the gnawing that had plagued him for hours.

The back of his finger ran along the contour of her cheek, scars stretching as he smiled, a look of wonder in his eyes. "What are you, Marceline Renee Fox?" Thoughts still for far from the supernatural he placed a kiss on her brow. "Perhaps you really are a Siren," he mused aloud.

Oh, Jack, if you only knew.