A/N: This is a weird story I started writing when I was recovering from the flu. I continued it... If you have read my other story, well this one is different. there is a bit of time jumping.. but not much, the story moves right along to catch up his memories and the present time...so... yeah...

~She comes along

She gets inside

She makes you better than anything you've tried

It's in her kiss

The blackest sea

And it runs deeper than you

Dare to dream it could be~

~Nine Inch Nails~

Present

Joker didn't have many attachments as a rule. He had grown attached to his knives, but they were useful. It wasn't the actual knife, but the use of them. They were fairly disposable. He only had a few addictions. Bloodlust, oh, he enjoyed that one. The thrill of the chase and the power of the control he had as he held a person's life in his hands. He got excited about the thought of it.

He had been released, unofficially, from Arkham, when some guy in a mask took over the city. He had been in that damned nuthouse for years, barely coherent. They had him on a rigorous regimen of narcotics. One shot to dull his mind, one to slow his body, a few antipsychotics, and even sleeping pills. When the strange man had taken over, the meds stopped abruptly. Joker sat alone in his cell going through a detox. He's not sure when the door was opened, maybe while he was still drugged, maybe not. All that mattered was the cell door was open when he was almost himself again.

He got up and made his way to the storage room. He found his old clothes there, they were a bit baggy and smelled like dust. Better than running around naked he mused. He had dressed and walked out of the front door. The first thing he needed was a ride. The city was different. Joker was unsure if he liked that. He had found out that the man had been beaten, but Batman had been killed in the process. That had put him in a really bad mood.

He had found his way back to the Narrows and started to feel better. He was home again, the stink of poverty and death was thick in the Narrows. He had wandered around, his memory still a bit fuzzy recovering from the near comatose state the City of Gotham kept him in for God knows how long.

He had felt a bit more like himself each day that passed. When his mind began to race from topic to topic, and the ideas began again, he remembered his old hideout. His secret place. He was headed there now. It was a long walk from where he is now. He laughed at the mess he was in. This was madness at it's finest.

He walked up to the rusty looking gate, admiring the 'abandoned' building behind it. Yes, this was what he needed. He'd been walking aimlessly the last few weeks, sleeping a few hours here and there. His now almost manic state afforded him no sleep for the last two days. He reached behind the condemned sign and felt the lock there. He needed the key, where had he put the key? He stood there for who knows how long before the memory returned.

He laughed, he thought he might have been killed or worse captured and had hidden the key where it would die with him. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his knife. He flicked the blade to its fullest and raised his shirt. This was gonna hurt, He felt the area around one of his numerous scars and BINGO, there it was. Joker smiled as he made a small incision in his side. He dropped the knife and watched for a minute as his own deep red blood began to run from the small cut.

He grabbed the object under the skin and squeezed, he smiled as the small key, covered in a silicone film, began to push through the opening. He winced as the object pushed through, stretching his skin. He figured this was as close to childbirth as he ever wanted to get. He laughed aloud to his own musings. The pain helping the fragmented thoughts slowly pull back together. The key slid free and he pulled it the rest of the way from his body.

The silicone film was disgusting, his body had tried to add it to him, permanently, the gore still attached. He was fascinated by the sight. He peeled the key from the protective coating and smiled. Pretty as the day he had put it in there. He unlocked the gate and stepped inside, reengaging the lock from the other side.

He moved up to the door and let himself in, Home sweet home. It was dusty but warm and familiar. He had found this place a long time ago, after he first came to the Narrows, it was a burned out apartment building. He claimed it as his own. The top floor was blackened rubble, he had boarded off. The other floors were fine, he'd fixed up a few of the rooms to his liking.

After his run-in with the Mobs, he'd used his hard-earned (Stolen) cash to buy the building and made it his own. Amazing what you could do in this town with a fake ID and a lot of cash. He moved to the apartment that was his personal space. He flicked on the light and it looked untouched. He grunted and made his way to the corner. He had made his own hidey-hole over here for emergencies.

The floorboard came up easy enough, letting him reach the shoe box inside. When he pulled it out it had damn near disintegrated in his hands. He flipped the lid and smiled. His old fake ID having him listed as Mr. Joe White. He cackled at the silliness of it. He had a few other documents inside and a large wad of cash. He put the ID and the money in his pocket. The other papers were left in the box and shoved back under the floor.

He moved to the small bathroom and took off his coat and a, now stained, shirt. He would have to stitch his side back up. He found his old first aid kit in the restroom. He was smart enough to keep this thing fully stocked. His line of work tended to be, well, messy. He pulled the small plastic package out, setting it down on the counter. Then bandages and a few alcohol wipes.

He cleaned the area, and with a smile on his face stitched his side back up. He looked at the small even stitches, proud that he hadn't lost his touch. He cleaned up the mess and slapped the bandage over the stitches, not wanting his clothes to catch and pull them.

Joker was unsure if it was the warmth of the apartment of the familiarity of his own place, but he felt sleepy. He pulled off the dust-covered blanket and laid on the musty, but clean sheets. Sleep came fast and he was dead to the world. He didn't dream, well, if he did, he didn't remember it. His eyes shot open and he looked around, feeling disoriented.

He got up, eyes still darting around the empty room, finally remembering he was in his place. He stretched himself, scratching and stood up. He looked around and smacked his lips. The day was young, the sun had barely risen and he moved to his closet and found his clothes still hung inside. He pulled the clean clothes out. He needed a shower. He still smelled like the hospital, and sweat. He washed up and quickly got dressed. He needed to go out into the city and get some work done.

He headed to the door and paused for a second, he noticed something he hadn't noticed before. The dust on the steps leading upstairs had footprints in them, smaller than his. He felt a flicker of memory, but it wasn't solid. He decided to check it out before he left. He slowly moved up the stairs, following the footprints. Making sure not to make a sound, he moved up to a door on the second floor. The footprints moved past the door.

He turned the doorknob and slid in silently. The room was dark but the light was on in the bathroom. Joker pulled his knife, who the hell was in his safe house? He looked around the apartment, it was barren, but the prints moved from the door to the bedroom and then stopped. This room was clean, the floor clear of dust. It even smelled nice. He walked further into the room and towards the bathroom door.

He couldn't hear anything, no shower or running water. He moved to turn the knob, knife gripped in his other hand. He opened the door and froze at the sight. It was a woman, she was undressing, getting ready to take a shower. He watched as she leaned into the tub and turned on the water, testing the temperature. Pulling the latch for the shower to start, the woman turned, her eyes went wide and then narrowed.

Joker hadn't moved, she seemed familiar, but he was sure he had never seen this woman before. He looked not at her naked state but his gaze was locked on her eyes. One green, bright and vibrant. The other a deep rich brown. Now those, he thought, those were familiar.

The woman walked closer to him, he tilted his head, like the new position would help his memory. A memory tickled at his mind. She had stopped moving forward when his head tilted. He still was focused on her eyes. That's when a thought came to him, he looked confused but said aloud, "Peach?"

The word sent the woman into a frenzy, she slapped him across his face. Hard. The pain sent a jolt of pleasure/pain straight to his groin. He growled in his throat. She was looking at him now, eyes watering, then she spoke, "You left me." She slapped him again, "You promised."

Before

Joker was in pain, the escape from the Asylum had been easier than he thought it would be. He had killed a guard, though not before the guy had gotten a few solid hits into Joker's ribs. After the fight, he swapped his uniform, and whistled as he walked out the front gates. He walked to the guard's car and started it. The drive was pleasant. Joker had been thrown into Arkham after the damned Batman had saved him from splatting, just to try to lock him up.

The thought was maddening, he didn't want to think about that bit of betrayal. He drove towards the safe house and decided to stop for some food. The grub at the asylum was a joke. He smiled at the thought of real food. He found a greasy looking diner and pulled in. The guard's wallet had a bit of cash but also a few credit cards.

He moved into the diner and ordered a few large meals. The waitress looked at him, then moved to put his order to the cook. Within minutes his food was in front of him. He dug in enthusiastically. The food was greasy, a bit overcooked and the best food he'd eaten in weeks. He ate every bit and set back, leaning his head on the back of the booth.

"Anything else?" the waitress asked as she removed some of the plates.

"Oh no, toots, I'm stuffed." He said laughing.

The waitress blushed and dropped his ticket on the table. She moved the dirty dishes to the back. When she returned to the table she smiled, Joker had left enough cash on the table for the ticket and a hefty tip.

Joker decided to ditch the car at the diner and decided to walk the rest of the way to his safe house. He was walking down the darkened street and enjoying life at the moment. His mind was racing like crazy. He had a lot to get going if he was going to teach the Bat. He was a few blocks away from the apartment building when he heard screaming. The sound pulled him from his thoughts, a frown now on his face. Usually, he enjoyed the sound begging and screaming, but this one was a tiny sound, pathetic. Where's the fun in that? He moved to the narrow alley and saw a large man kicking the shit out of a smaller person. Joker watched as the brute hurt whomever was on the ground. He finally found the screaming. It came from a small kid watching it all.

The kid kept screaming "Stop." The man stepped back and pulled a gun from behind him and shot the person he had been beating. The kid screamed, trying to run. The man shot the small body. It dropped. Joker felt odd about that, it was just a kid, why shoot them? Where was the message in that?

He was about to turn and walk away when he saw the man step towards the kid he had just shot. Joker watched in disgust as the large shadowy man reached for his pants, undoing the belt he wore and the button and zipper. Joker looked down. The small shape was moving, the kid was alive, the small body writhing in pain.

Joker saw red. He could handle all kinds of depravity, but not a kid rapist. He sighed, that was it, he stalked down the alleyway and pulled his knife. By the time the man knew he was there, it was too late, Joker had sliced open the man's jugular and watched the perverts blood spray across the bricks, in rhythm with his heartbeat.

He was going to leave, but the small kid whimpered. "Help me?"

Joker grunted. He wasn't a babysitter. He reached down and pulled the kid up, carrying the small body with him. He decided he would patch the kid up and drop them somewhere else, he wasn't a monster.

He moved to the street and hurried to the damned safe house. The kid smelled bad, like filth, piss, and blood. It was not a good combination. He pushed into the apartment and took the kid to the bathroom. He laid them down in the bathtub. He grabbed the first aid kit and then a knife of his from his room. What would Gotham say if they knew the Joker was helping instead of killing someone?

He hummed his amusement at the situation as he cut the shirt from the kid. He turned on the shower to clean the blood from their tiny body. It must have been someone else blood. No wounds there. He tugged the pants from the kid and knew he'd found the wound when the crying started. The man had shot them in the outer thigh. Painful but not life-threatening.

He frowned, as his eyes moved down the tiny body. It was a little girl, and she was crying. He had only realized it was a girl by the white and pink panties she wore. He felt his blood boil again thinking about that damned pervert. He wanted to kill the man again. He grabbed his supplies and started to fix up the wound.

"This is gonna hurt kiddo." He said as he started to stitch the small wound. Lucky for her, the gun had been a small caliber, maybe a .22, and it was through and through. Ignoring the whimpers and cries, he turned her to her side and stitched the back. He looked at the wounds, they had stopped bleeding and the stitches were nice and tight. Pleased at the job, he turned the water off and wrapped her leg with a dry bandage.

He lifted her small body and took her to his bed, setting her on the mattress and moved to his closet. He grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over her head, it swallowed her small frame. He laid her back to relax and she started to cry again. He didn't have anything for pain or sleep. He would not be listening to THAT all night. He had just spent time and supplies to fix her up, so he was not going to kill her. Then he had a brilliant idea. He moved to his table and grabbed the tin that had been sitting there since just before he had been locked up.

He quickly rolled a joint and lit it. He took a big hit and smiled, still good. "Hey kiddo, I, uh, got you something to help with the pain." She looked at him and said nothing. "You got to trust me, ok?" He said, refusing to look into her tear-filled eyes. .

She looked at the joint then back at him and nodded. "I'm going to breathe the medicine to you, into your mouth, you just have to breathe in, ok?" She looked confused but nodded.

He smiled and pulled a long draw from the joint, holding the smoke in his mouth, then leaned forward. She flinched but he continued. He sealed his mouth over hers, she opened her mouth and sucked in air as he pushed the smoke into her lungs.

She smiled, then coughed a lot. Joker laughed and waited for her to catch her breath. "One more okay?" he said.

She nodded, Joker repeated the process, proud that she hadn't coughed this time. He smiled as he saw her body relax.

Joker finished the joint and sat back on the other side of the bed. The girl had fallen asleep. Joker laid there and let the thoughts run through his head. What the hell would he do with a kid? Once she was feeling better, he'd drop her off somewhere.

Joker had fallen asleep at some point. He hadn't realized it had happened, until he woke up, feeling as if he was being watched. He opened his eyes and saw two large miss-matched eyes looking at him. One bright green and one deep brown. He didn't move, he just looked at them.

The girl just watched him. Long blinks the only breaking of the eye lock they had started. He hadn't had anyone hold eye contact with him in a long time. It made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Finally, the girl spoke. "Is my brother dead?"

Joker smacked his lips, "Was that who was getting hurt last night?" he asked. The girl's eyes started to water, she nodded. "Yeah kiddo, that, ah, man shot him in the neck."

The girl began to cry again, but thankfully, silently. Joker got up and moved to the kitchen, getting as much distance as he could between them. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and drank it, trying to decide what he should do. First things first, he needed a shower. He grabbed a box of pop-tarts, and went back to the room the girl was in. "Here, eat something." He tossed them to her.

"Thanks." She said and opened the package.

Joker grunted and went into the bathroom and took a shower. The hot water felt good. Arkham showers were so cold, and kind of painful. He finished up and moved back into his room, towel around his waist. The girl was on the bed still, breakfast finished. She was picking at the bandage. Joker moved to the closet and grabbed clothes.

He moved to get dressed and said, "Don't pick at that." The girl jumped. Joker laughed and continued to get dressed.

Next thing on his agenda for the day, he needed to go back to his warehouse to see who was left, but couldn't just leave her here. He looked back at the girl, he couldn't take her in just a shirt. He frowned.

"Wait here. I'm going to go get you clothes." He said quickly and left to rummage through the other apartment in the building. When Joker had acquired this place, the four small apartments were still fully furnished. One had been burnt out and boarded off. He had emptied the one they were currently in of all unnecessary items. That left two other apartments semi full of all kinds of useless treasures.

When he returned about fifteen minutes later, the girl was still where he left her. "Here, let's, uh, get you ready." Joker said as he handed her clean clothes.