The first thing he noticed is a new graffiti on a very long wall on the main street in the Narrows. It says "FAKERS GONNA FAKE, FAKE, FAKE, FAKE". It takes him a second, and then he remembers how she saw to his cuts and bruises that time he just showed up at her house, bleeding from whatever job he just did. That was the first time she saw him half-naked, and he remembers how the way she looked at him gave him a murderous amount of hope that she actually might have the hots for him. Her hands trembled a bit as she touched the skin on my back, and I wished I had the guts to turn around and just kiss her silly. But he still figured she'd probably be disgusted by the scars and whatnot. And then she started humming that stupid song, actually she just repeated a part of it, over and over again, about how "fakers gonna fake, fake, fake..", and she was subconsciously - or even consciously - aiming at their unclear status that they had back then, their fake-dating.

His cell phone brings him back from his short trip down memory lane, and he makes an internal note to himself to check out the graffiti once more, as soon as he's done with his current job. There's something sketchy about that graffiti, and he's not a big fan of believing in coincidences. Especially now that he finally called for her.

Leaving his heavy purple coat back in the car, he drops back casually into a comfortable chair he found on the rooftop that he has previously chosen as the perfect viewing spot for his latest show. He put a timer on the bomb hidden in the basement of the nearby factory, so he knows he has a few more minutes to relax and wait for the big boom. One of his more intelligent goons hands him the newspaper that he closely reads every day, and he immediately dives into the pages. He skips the sport sections and searches for more interesting topics, like the whereabouts of Gotham's brave little mayor. However, his eyes are drawn to a little and very simple ad. It consists of one sentence, and once he reads it, he stops breathing for a few seconds:

"I'm waiting for my fake boyfriend."

This can't be a coincidence.

He gets up and leaves his goons behind. The factory explodes, and this time, it is not followed by his legendary chilling laughter.

…

I sit down in my car and my mind's buzzing. Is that it? Is that really her? She saw my message, and she understood, and she actually complied? She's here? No wait, where is she? She says she's waiting for me, that's what the message says..it could only be her old place, her aunt's house. If that's true, she's up for a surprise…

I start driving toward her aunt's house, although it hasn't been her aunt's house for a while now. Now, it's mine. As soon as I, uhm, left the lovely hellhole called Arkham and got myself some money, I bought if off her. It was a bargain, to be honest. That old bat couldn't be bothered with the house anyway. But to me, that house meant a lot…it was our place. And ever since, in that rare moments I longed for familiarity and solace, this is where I went.

It's not like I made a shrine out of it. It's not like my life after Sonja and I were separated by force was spent completely..alone, catch my drift? I had a number of woman..quite a few. But I never took any of those ladies back to our place.

But this is no occasion to think about other women.

I slowly drive by my house, and I spot an empty rental car parked nearby.

The house seems empty, but still, I have this nagging feeling…there! I saw a shadow passing by one of the windows. Somebody is in the house. At least I think I saw someone move in there.

It's evening, so I don't bother taking of my face or doing anything else to conceal my identity. This is Gotham, people don't pay attention to anyone. Sometimes I wonder for how long I could stroll down the busiest street in Gotham in the middle of the day before someone realizes it's good ol' Joker who they bump into.

I slowly open the door and take a peek inside. So much dust…

The hallway is empty. The kitchen is empty. The living room is empty.

It's funny how each time I enter these rooms, memories flood all over me. I can't seem to keep my focus. Usually I'm better at this. Tracking people, I mean. Now, I just have the feeling that someone's here, but I don't really look for clues like I usually would. I stop for a moment in the middle of the corridor and run my gloved hands through my hair.

I hear steps. Someone's coming out of the bedroom. Or is it all in my head?

I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so slow in my reactions ever since I read that one sentence.

I'm waiting for my fake boyfriend.

I usually would be pulling out my knife by now. Instead I'm looking at a pair of sensible beige pumps. My eyes keep on traveling up. Slender legs, a beige pencil skirt. Lovely little waist. A black blouse, showing just a little bit of cleavage.

And then. That lovely face framed by a few strands of her chestnut hair that escaped a typical mum-bun. Her eyes, staring right at me.

It's her. It's Sonja. It's not my imagination.

She doesn't utter a word as she takes me in. I, too, can't find any words, neither am I trying to find them at all. From the initial moment of pure joy of seeing her, I feel myself dropping mentally to the level of a very hungry and irritated animal.

Something's different about her. Something significant.

I don't want anything different. I want Sonja.

She still stares at me, as if she's not sure whether to be happy or scared, and she barely manages to let out a little shriek as I charge at her. Suddenly, I feel like I have to make things right again. I have to find what's different and change it back. I kiss her hard and ungently, and I feel satisfied when I feel her kissing me back with the same enthusiasm. Still, something's off. Is it the way she smells? Like..too much perfume or body lotion or whatever it is women put on themselves…she should smell like me. She should reek of me, so that any other man knows that this one is not only taken, but taken by ME.

I need to make her mine once again.

I push us through the bedroom door and shove her on the bed. She lands on the bed and almost rolls off of it. She shoots me a nasty look for it and I smirk a bit at her as I practically tear my clothes from my body. Why the hell do I wear so many layers of clothes?!

Soon enough, I'm completely naked, and so is she, expect for a pair of very silly knickers. She must have recognized the look of determination and destruction on me, because she waves her arms in defeat and yells:

"Don't! I'll take 'em off, ok?"

"Atta girl", I already support my weight over her as she discards the underwear and willingly spreads her legs for me.

Funny how our first conversation after so many years is about her panties.

And then I lower myself into her.

It's home, it's home again.

I nuzzle my face between her chin and shoulder and lick and bite whatever I can. I wish I had ten arms so I could touch her everywhere in the same moment. I feel her hands traveling hungrily all over me and I enjoy her wetness and her moans. Half of my face is already smeared all over her breasts.

"Oh, Jack", she moans in one moment.

"Joker", I manage to correct her.

"No, Jack!", her eyes fly open and she stares at me angrily, "And would you stop getting that smelly paint all over me!"

I laugh as I fuck her. That's my Sonja. Fucked by the Joker and still she thinks she can order around. I give her an extra sloppy kiss for that and make sure to get as much paint as possible on her face.

"Ewww!", she pushes me away, and I'm having none of that. I flip her over on her knees and quickly slap her butt a few times, hard enough for her behind to instantly start glowing a lovely shade of red. She yelps and tries to turn and smack me, but I hold her tightly by her waist and plunge into her with renewed fervour. The angry expression on her face vanishes and is soon enough replaced with lust.

"Did you pine…did you pine for your fake boyfriend?", I ask her as I pull at her hair, effectively bringing her face closer to mine, still fucking her in a rough rhythm.

"I did..I missed you so much, Jack", she answers, immediately knowing what I was referring to.

"So why do I have the feeling that things have changed?", I say more than I ask, and I'm a bit startled to realize that she froze to these words.

"What. Are you. Hiding. From me?", my voice becomes nasal, and I have to remind myself that she's not my victim, but I flip her over yet again, immediately entering her anew, and now I watch her face from just a few centimetres away. I don't want to miss even the slightest expression on her face. I was always able to read her like a book.

"I'm not hiding anything", she obviously lies. In the same time, I feel how she clenches her muscles down there, on purpose, to distract me.

"Liar", I say as I push hard into her, and my hand travels around her neck, giving her a warning, "Tell me. Tell me now."

"I will tell you when the time's right", she rolls her eyes defiantly, but I see a bit of fear in them, too, and I'm glad.

"You will tell me now.", I say darkly, and the combination of her fear and her defiance somehow arouses me even more, so I start another round of punishing pounding. This makes her moan and yell, trying to push me off and get me closer in the same time.

"Tell me!", I choke her a bit, and she obviously has had it. From what I remember, she always liked it rough, but there was this fine line, and if I passed it, all fun and games was over. I guess this hasn't changed, because out of nowhere, her fist collides with my nose, and although she didn't break it, it's enough to blind me for a second. She uses that second well, since she pushes her legs between us and shoves me hardly at my chest. I find myself flying from the bed and, very ungracefully, landing on the floor.

"You'll pay for this", I promise her as I try to get up, but she's already on her feet, standing right above me.

"We'll see about that", she says with a small smile on her lips, and then she slowly lowers herself down, straddling me. I'm still hard, and she's wet, and sure enough, we continue where we were before our little..miscommunication.

I look at her, at how beautiful she is, at how little she's changed, and yet how different she is. I still can clearly feel the change that surrounds her, and I feel like her loyalty is somehow divided, and it drives me crazy. There is something warm, and soft, and loving about her, and I feel like it's not entirely for me. I am a selfish, selfish man, and I want this woman for myself, completely and only for me. I will definitely do this time what I should have done the last time, and that is to hide her, keep her safe somewhere where no fucking cops and authorities can find her, somewhere where I'll have her all for myself – but I feel, no, I can smell something on her, something that will stand in my way.

Or is that something maybe a someone?

The thought or some other man, a rival, drives me crazy with jealousy. She's mine, and she needs to be reminded of it.

I grab her and, after a quick wrestle, I have her on all fours again, pounding into her. The way she presents her lush bottom to me and practically invites me to take her as hard as I want tells me that she doesn't really mind my manhandling that much.

"You're mine, you know that?", I growl in her ear.

"Yours", she pants between moans.

"Only mine.", I say and pull at her hair for good measure, and I know that she loves when I do that. Soon enough I feel her explode under me and I follow immediately, spilling deeply into her and roaring my release out for the entire world to hear.

We lie on the bedroom floor after, and she immediately finds her spot on my shoulder. Just like two silly teens, we share a cigarette. Still, I can't forget that she owes me a confession, so I promise her darkly, "…and whoever you're hiding…is done. I'll crush his scull with my bare hands."

She jumps at that as if I had thrown boiling water all over her. She doesn't say a word, but just stares at me, and I realize she's calculating what to say and how to say it.

"So there is another man in your life?", I look at her sharply.

"A man, hah!", she snorts an amused little laughter at that, as if startled from deep thought.

"Yes, a man.", I repeat in irritation, and the I add in my most intimidating voice, "A dead man walking."

"Don't say that!", she looks at me in horror and now I'm really confused.

"What else do you expect?", I wonder if she's gone a bit stupid in her head in the last 16 years. This entire conversation makes me angry. I'm finally reunited with the girl I missed for years, and now that we're together, we're wasting time on talking about her other man?!, "Why would you come to me and be loyal to him?!"

And then, as I said that last sentence, it's like something fell from my eyes, something that hindered me to see things clearly. I see that her protecting that someone is an act of pure love and loyalty, but not lust. I see that I was right: her loyalty is divided. My eyes wander to her naked belly, and I can see very faded small lines on it.

"You have a child.", I say, and something in me breaks a bit, because that not only means that a huge part of her love is wasted on some brat, instead of me, but also, that she is forever connected through this kid with some other man - the father of the child.

Her silence is answer enough.

I feel her eyes on me and I realize I haven't said a word for a long time. She looks at me with expectation.

"If you're really thinking I'm gonna ask you about your toddler, you're kidding yourself.", I huff. Really, I never was good with children. And especially now. I'm not going to look at photos at some other man's kid. I don't know what to do with this whole thing, anyway. How can I make this work, with keeping her and somehow getting rid of the kid?

"He's not a toddler, Jack", she tells me slowly, and then she continues after a minute, "He's sixteen, you know."

I look at her because she said that last sentence in an important tone, and I just think about what the hell do I care how old the brat is and then..oh. Oh.

"Sixteen?", I ask and something deep inside of me moves.

"Sixteen.", she nods, and the idea of the brat being mine is becoming more and more real by the second.

"Sixteen.", I repeat and I want to ask her, to make sure, but I don't have the strength. I feel as if my insides are made of glass that will shatter any moment.

"He's name is Jackson", Sonja says, and I do something I haven't done in a long, long time. I let one single tear trail down my cheek.

A/N

Hey there! First of all, sorry for the late update-I wanted to update this Tuesdays or Wednesday latest! And then I got a ton of crap work thrown at me and I simply didn't have enough time to write. Actually, in one moment I did, but I had zero inspiration, which drove me crazy, because I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but it kept on coming out wrong, so I gave up for that day.

Second, thank you so much on your more than great reactions to the sequel! I was so happy to see you guys liked it, and I hope I'll manage to continue the story in the same fashion.

Third, if you guys are always on the look-out for good Joker fanfiction, like me, I would like to recommend NostalgicDemise (on Ao3), who writes extraordinarily great Joker origin stories! What or who do you guys recommend?

Fourth and last- please let me know how you liked the chapter!