Not Done Yet

A/N: Here's a little Joker origin tale; hope it's not offensive to anyone. Also, I guess there's no way to reply to individual reviewers, so I will try to do that "here" in the future. For now, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, especially:

Poodle Murphy--you were the first on here, you keep coming back, thank you for all the encouragement!

Jokerluv --always takes the time to delve a little deeper, thank you!

Victoria Valentine-Highwind--you keep coming back, thank you so much!!


Seditionary

* * *

The following morning, Bruce awoke to a dull ache in his chest. He was disoriented, and as he looked around the unfamiliar room, he slowly came to the realization that the pain was a remnant of the gunshot his Kevlar had deflected, leaving him with a deep muscle bruise, and that he was...oh, God...in the Joker's primitive hovel.

"Morning' angel." a soft voice greeted him. Bruce followed the sound and focused his eyes on his lover, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a newspaper on his lap and a pen in his hand. Clad in jeans and a t-shirt, with tousled blond curls falling around his unpainted face, the Joker looked like nothing so much as an errant college student after a little too much partying.

Bruce stretched his naked body under the warm comforter, sat up and regarded the young man with a combination of affection, lust, and perplexity.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Crossword." The Joker held up the folded paper to show Bruce his progress. He had the grid almost completed.

"Tough one today. Hey, there's doughnuts and coffee, if you want." He gestured at the battered coffee table with his pen, and, dropping his head in concentration, returned to his puzzle.

Bruce broke into a grin.

"You went out this early to get a paper and doughnuts?" he asked in amused disbelief.

"Yeah....what's so odd about that?" asked the Joker, slightly defensive.

"You're not afraid of being recognized?"

"Oh, not really. I put a scarf over my face. Honestly, Bats, you can murder people in cold blood on the sidewalks around here and if anyone stops, it's only to swipe the dead guy's wallet."

Bruce had the uncomfortable realization that the Joker was probably speaking from experience. Still, he was looking extremely fuckable, perched on the couch...

"Hey, come here," Bruce ordered.

The Joker looked up at his guest and broke into a broad grin.

"Hold your horses, I've only got three more clues to go!"

"Don't fuck with me, Jack, get your ass over here."

With mock reluctance, he Joker put down his paper and ambled over to the bed.

"What do you waaaant?" he whined.

Bruce pulled him under the covers with him, took his hand and placed it on his straining erection.

"You know what I want."

"Sounds like a personal problem to me," the Joker smirked. "You think I have all day to lie around in bed, servicing you?"

"Yep." Bruce forced him onto his back and began kissing him demandingly. The Joker tasted of coffee and raw sugar.

"Umm...you taste good. Maybe I could be distracted with a doughnut, after all...." murmured Bruce.

"Fat chance..." his lover retorted as he firmly stroked the bigger man's cock. Bruce eagerly worked his erection against the other's hand until Jack stopped, struggled out of his jeans and underwear and parted his legs. Bruce settled comfortably between them, and reached for the lubricant. The pleasurable thrusting went on for a good long time before each man came, and afterward they lay in each other's arms, content and satisfied in a way neither was exactly familiar with.

"Mmm, morning sex. An unusual luxury..." said the Joker, burrowing further into Bruce's strong embrace.

"Yeah...this is the first time we've spent the night together, isn't it?" Bruce mused.

"Only because you were too big of a wuss to stay over at Arkham. Afraid they wouldn't let ya leave, weren't you, tough guy?" teased the blond.

"Maybe I was afraid I wouldn't want to..."whispered Bruce, almost to himself. Jack looked at him quizzically and smiled. Bruce ran a finger over the deep scar on the right side of the Joker's face and grinned as the man rubbed his cheek into the caress, like a cat.

"How'd you get those scars, anyway?" Bruce asked curiously.

Jack looked at him, surprised. What made him ask, at this late date?

"You really want to know?"

"That's why I asked, genius," retorted Bruce.

"No, I just meant...you never asked before."

"I always thought it might put you over the edge while you were in treatment..."

"Oh, did you think I quit noticing 'em, what with the Thorazine and all?"

"NO! I just...never mind. Having a conversation with you is like herding cats...."

"Oh, chill. I'll tell ya. But don't go feeling sorry for me and all that bullshit, understand?"

"You'd be surprised how little sympathy I really have for you these days, Joker."

"Ha ha, well, good. Ok--so I was shaving one day, using one of those old-fashioned straight razors, right? And it slipped! Gave myself quite a little nick, riiiight on the side of my mouth. Well, I thought that looked kind of off-balance, so I did another one, on the other side. But, you know how it is, kind of like trying to give yourself a haircut, that one was longer than the first, so I had to even it up! Well, it was pretty painful, so I finally gave up trying, but maybe one day I'll take another shot at it...."

"You are so full of shit."

"What! You don't believe me? Swear to God, Bats, swear to God..."

Bruce rolled his eyes, and shoved him over to the other side of the bed in disgust. The Joker had dissolved into helpless cackling, having a good laugh at his bedmate's irritation.

"Aw, come on Batsy, it's funny, right?" he gasped, trying to contain his amusement.

"Just hilarious. Never mind, I don't want to know after all."

"Oh, sure you do, look, I'm sorry, I'll tell ya, I'll tell ya. When I was a little kid, my mom used to take me for walks in the park. Well, one day, we came upon this rogue chipmunk, and it ran up my pants leg and attacked me! Went right for my face. I think I was eating peanuts at the time. Sooo...."

Bruce was staring dispassionately at Jack as his laughter choked off his ability to continue his tale. When he finally regained his composure, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, he looked at Bruce's serious expression and frowned.

"Ah, lighten up, Bats! Come on, a chipmunk? Just the word itself is funny! Hey, why so serious, huh? I'm just pulling your leg, having a little fun with ya...give me a break, will you?"

Bruce took a deep breath.

"You know, you don't think twice about letting me use your body any way I want. I can demand anything and you'll give it to me. No matter how much, how long, how rough, you'll go along with it, even to the point of letting me hurt you. But you never let me in here," he said, gesturing at the Joker's head. "You never let me know who you really are, or help me to understand how you became the person you are. And that makes me really sad." Bruce folded his arms over his bruised chest and shifted his gaze to the dirty window looking out onto the mean streets below.

The Joker was silent for a long moment. Finally, a look of resignation on his face, he sighed. Jeeze, if the big guy really wanted to hear his sob story....

"All right, then. You want to hear the whole pathetic yarn? I'll tell you. But, I meant it when I said I don't want you feeling sorry for me. Ok?" At last, his voice had a tone of sincerity to it, and a hard edge that Bruce hadn't heard before.

"Ok, Jack. No sympathy. But you better be telling the truth this time, or you'll need some sympathy."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Ok. I grew up in Wisconsin..."

"Wisconsin??"

"Yeah, Wisconsin! What? People live there...I was a kid, thirteen years old. My parents were crazy fucking fundamentalists..."

"Religious?" Bruce asked, amazed.

"Uh-huh, real Bible-thumpers. Except for the booze...my dad had a huge drinking problem, but he faked it for the congregation...."

"Your father was a minister??" Bruce's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Yeah. So, all my life, I'm like, punished for every little thing, threatened with hell fire, locked in closets, starved, beaten, whatever seemed...appropriate. Well, of course, sex was the worst. If I ever got caught beating off, shit...I'd go to school with black eyes, bruises...he used a belt on me all the time, whether I needed it or not." The Joker recited his abuse matter-of-factly, staring at the ceiling. Bruce thought of some of the odd scars on the Joker's back and a chill went through him.

"So, I was thirteen...and this older girl started flirting with me every week at church. I was a dumb kid, didn't even know what the hell was going on with that, but one day, after the service, she got me to go with her to a storage shed out back. We kind of started making out, and before I knew it, she had my dick in her mouth. We ended up doing it on a pile of old newspapers."

"I guess my father saw us go off together, and he spied on us...when we were done--I assume he watched the whole thing, probably jerking off the whole time--he grabbed me and dragged me to the car, threw me in, and took me home. He locked me in a closet for hours, while he drank himself into a fire-and-brimstone mania. He pulled me out of the closet, and said 'You think women will bring you pleasure, son? That they'll bring a smile to your face? Well, I'm going to save you from yourself. I'll make it so no girl will ever look at you again. I'm doing this for your soul, son!' and he tied me to a chair, took out a knife, and...well, you know. This." The Joker gestured at his scars. Bruce felt his stomach churn at the thought of a parent injuring his child in such a horrible way.

"I remember screaming, (please, Dad...don't, don't do it!) begging him to stop (oh, God, please! I won't do it again, I swear! No, no, please...)...the pain was...(on fire...I can't stand it...the sound...the smell of blood, the taste...flooding my mouth) I finally blacked out and when I woke up, I found that my mother had sewn me up. (Why'd you let him do it, Mom? WHY? I had to son. The devil is strong in you. We had to save your soul, don't you understand?) They kept me locked up in the house for weeks while I healed--didn't want anyone to know what had happened to me so the old man wouldn't get in trouble. (You don't want to go live in an unclean home with strangers, do you, son? You don't want your daddy to rot in prison...do you?) When I finally recovered, I was told to say I did it to myself while I was high on drugs. I was supposed to preach on the evils of drugs to all my pals. Shit, I'd never even had a hit off a joint at the time...anyway...that's it. (Just lie still son, thank God for the pain. The pain will cleanse you...) Depressing, isn't it?" The telling seemed to take something out of him, and, with a heavy sigh, he turned over on his side, away from Bruce.

Bruce immediately pulled him back into his arms.

"I know you don't want my sympathy...but I'm sorry that happened to you. It was wrong--you didn't deserve it...." he said softly.

"Forget it. It was a long time ago...feels like it happened to someone else, mostly...."

"So, what happened? I can't believe the school didn't look into it..." Bruce asked gently, running his fingers through Jack's dark blond hair.

Jack made a dismissive noise.

"They never gave it a second thought. My dad had a lot of influence in that little town...no one ever asked me a single question about it."

"Did he keep...hurting you?" Bruce asked carefully.

"He...never cut me again. But, when I was fourteen, I just ran away..." he answered simply.

"Where did you go?"

The Joker turned over and grinned at Bruce.

"Now you really won't believe me."

"Uh...try me."

"I ran away and joined the circus."

"Jack, come on..."

"No, it's true. Actually, it was this crummy, third rate traveling carnival, but yeah, basically it's the same thing."

"And, what did you do in the carnival?" asked Bruce indulgently. He didn't really care if the story were true or not, not now; he was too distressed by Jack's revelations, and was glad for a distraction.

"Aw, I started out as a roustabout--you know, just doing real menial stuff, cleaning, loading trucks, stuff like that...but later, this guy that ran a game booth kind of, you know, had a thing for me, and he let me work for him...when the show hit Chicago, I left. I ended up messing around with drugs, selling 'em and stuff...then I ended up doing little jobs for this dealer, who turned out to be in the mob, and one thing led to the other, and...here I am!" He grinned innocently at Bruce for a moment, then settled back into the warmth of Bruce's arms.

"How'd you end up in Gotham?" asked Bruce.

"This guy that I worked for had connections...he sent me up here to do a job...I just never went back."

"You became a hit man."

"Well, if you want to put a label on it, yeah."

"Umm. Ok. I think I need a shower, now."

"Uh...well, that's a problem."

"Why?"

"No running water."

Bruce regarded the other with disgust.

"You're kidding."

"Hey, what do you want for freeee? I didn't exactly have a leasing agent to complain to, you know. But, there's a very nice truck stop about a mile from here, they always have hot water...."

"I'm not taking a shower in a truck stop."

Bruce had already been considering what to do about his escaped-mental-patient lover, knowing he couldn't in good conscience just leave him on his own. But he couldn't bear the thought of forcing him to return to Arkham. If he was doing this well, taking his medication and somehow surviving "in the wild," so to speak, without reverting to his psychotic state, it would be devastating to his progress to be locked up again.

He had to come up with a plan.

In the meantime, he wanted him where he could keep an eye on him.

"Pack your things." Bruce ordered.

"We're going to my place."

* * *