"Friendship — my definition — is built on two things. Respect and trust. Both elements have to be there. And it has to be mutual. You can have respect for someone, but if you don't have trust, the friendship will crumble.
–Stieg Larsson

"HOW DID HE GET THE scars?"

Ryder shifted in his place, the back of his pure cotton t-shirt sticking slightly to the cracked leather barcalounger as he shot me a dubious glance.

"Ask him." He simply dismissed, cramming a sloppily rolled blunt between his cracked lips before diverting his gaze.

"But–" I stammered, the breath hitching in my throat as Joker's haunting cackle filled the void, accompanied by the roaring boom of the hefty steel door snapping closed.

An array of goosebumps instantaneously littered my skin, palms immediately growing clammy as I fidgeted in place against the beaten sofa. Widened gaze searched the premises, eventually settling upon an abundance of purple as he strut into the back right corner where Ryder and I currently reside.

I watched, mouth agape as the theatrical man allowed the broad coat to slip down the length of his slender arms, pooling into a heap of thick fabric against the wooden coffee table where it elegantly fell. Ebony encircled eyes promptly met mine, petite pink tongue darting outward to caress the stained lacerations imbedded upon his cheeks as he delivered a simple nod in my direction.

"Hor-t." He simplistically greeted, almost instantly diverting his stare before I had the opportunity to reply. It refocused on a dazed Ryder, whose legs were crossed tightly, ankles laced as he took a long drag off of his paper blunt.

"Where is she?" Joker lazily drawled, smacking his lips a bit too enthusiastically as his lanky fingers captured the sleeves of his hexagon-printed dress shirt. I blatantly observed his actions, cobalt gaze fixated on the way his colorant-tinted fingers rotated the fabric up the length of his muscular arms. I carefully studied the sporadic patches of permanent ink that littered his flesh, ranging from the set of lines that circled his left wrist, all the way to the indistinguishable triad of words that sat slapped across his outer right arm.

"Who?" Ryder inquired, a curious, thick brow raising.

"Marissa." Joker clipped, impatient palms claiming his hips as the toe of his shoe toyed with the leg of the coffee table.

My throat instantly ran dry at his query, the cool metal of the Jeep keys poking and prodding against my leg as they lay buried in the depths of my denim pocket.

"She's your stripper, right?" Ryder pried, red-rimmed eyes meeting my rigid stance.

"They prefer the term exotic dancer." Joker teased, mimicking air quotes with his fingers as he paced the dinky area.

"The-uh, Jeep I gave her is parked ou-t front. So, where's she hiding?" The painted-face man pressed.

"Daddy doesn't have time for games, today." He added, darkened gaze flickering momentarily in my direction.

I merely scoffed at the nickname he'd given himself, the visuals of Marissa calling him that made my stomach violently churn.

"She ain't here, pal." Ryder dryly explained, thrusting the half-smoked blunt in my direction. I simply shook my head, an overwhelming sense of nausea riddling my throat as I denied the offer with difficulty.

Joker raised a suspicious set of brows, lacerated bottom lip tugged tightly between rows of teeth as he struggled to formulate a proper reply.

"Then-uh, why is her car here, hmm?"

"Look, J. I'm not sure why your old Jeep is here. Maybe she snuck in with one of the guys without me noticing, check in the back. I'm 'bout to take a nap." Ryder said, easing into the comfort of his chair as his eyelids fluttered closed.

Joker let out an irate sigh, refocusing his irritated glare on me once more. Just as his lips parted in preparation to speak, the mobile phone buried in the safety of his plum coat pocket obnoxiously rang, ricocheting off the steel walls as I impulsively flinched.

Several muted phrases slipped off his silver tongue, paint-riddled fingers digging through his pockets as he retrieved the nettlesome object.

"Hello?" He barked into the receiver, a single hand held on his hip as he chewed mindlessly on his bottom lip.

I sat defeated against the back of the sofa, arms firmly crossed as my foot tapped at an impeccable speed. Anxiety coursed through my veins as a severely concentrated expression overcame my employers features, blackened brows knit together as he glanced uneasily in my direction.

"You're fucking joking." He practically scoffed, eyes somewhat widening as he shifted his weight from either foot. Apparently, the individual calling was, in fact, not joking, as Joker's expression severely hardened moments later.

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks-er, Geoff." Joker mutely dismissed, snapping the mobile shut as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

"What is it, boss?" I innocently wondered, knowing exactly what kind of news was to come. Geoff was Marissa's boss.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Marissa's dead." Joker spat, a hand instantly claiming his jaw. He captured his greasepaint coated bottom lip between his index finger and thumb, squeezing the skin between his grasp.

"They-uh, ruled it a suicide. Fuckin' jumped from her window." He uneasily added, avoiding my forged, sympathetic expression.

Wonder how that happened...

"I'm sorry, sir. Did you love her?" I wondered, instantly regretting the question the moment it left my lips.

Joker shot me a quizzical glare, jaw tightening as a sarcastic giggle slipped through his tainted lips.

"No," he barked, continuing to cackle at the apparently obscene inquiry. "She was jus-t a nice tight pussy. I'm-uh, sure you know wha-t I mean."

I nodded, a bit relieved at the fact that Marissa meant nothing to him besides a good shag.

"So," Joker sang, pacing the petite area with wonder. "If lit-tle Issa offed herself, like they say, then somebody here stole the Jeep."

My fingers laced tightly together, slick skin rubbing anxiously together as I avoided Joker's glare. A part of me assumed that he'd believed the whole suicide skit — That it was just a mere coincidence that someone stole the Jeep the very same night Marissa tossed herself out of her high-rise window.

However, another part of me, the more sane and logical part, knew for a fucking fact that the Joker knew. He wasn't an idiot — not even remotely close — and he knew I'd done it.

I killed her.

I fucking killed her.

And he damn well knew it.

"Let's go for a ride, buddy." My boss suggested, snatching his discarded coat from the table as he wiggled back into the material.

Hefty snores emerged from a slump Ryder several feet away, his body limp against the leather chair as I began to tremble in my trousers.

Was he going to kill me?

"Where are we going, sir?" I groggily pried, lifting my shaking frame from the comfort of the old furniture as I followed closely on his heel. Marissa's key ring slapped mindlessly against my inner thigh, prompting my pulse to quicken as we approached the broad steel exit.

"On an adventure. Feel-uh, free to bring your speck'a dus-t with." Joker mocked, laughing lowly at his pitiful joke as I refrained from rolling my eyes.

All throughout high school, I'd never heard the fucking end of the Horton Hears A Who jokes. One time, I actually brought along a dyed pink dandelion to school with me, just for shits and giggles. I carried the damn thing around all day. Nobody seemed to mention the damn book again after that.

We strut from Ryder's nearly vacant hideout, the piercing sun nearly blinding me as we swiftly approached the parked van. Not a single cloud littered the sky, which was a bit unusual here in Gotham City. Something wasn't right...

"Ge-zuuuus," Joker groaned, shuffling into the drivers seat as he landed incorrectly on his groin. A slight wince overcame his features, an ungloved hand darting downward to readjust himself as I slunk into the passenger seat.

"Too fucking brigh-t out."

I blandly nodded in response, index finger jabbing against my parted lips as I unconciously chewed on my fingernail, an old habit that apparently had reappeared.

"Sun should be setting soon." I grumbled, avoiding Joker's stare as I glared hastily out the tinted window. He merely grunt, igniting the engine as the van roared to life.

We sat in a deafening silence nearly the entirety of the ride, all besides the insistent muttering that emerged from the clown beside me. I desperately attempted to decipher the phrases that tumbled from his lips, but to no avail. He'd mastered the art of mumbling.

I began to grow rather uneasy the moment the van tumbled down an unfamiliar dirt path, an abundance of aged, idiosyncratic trees lining the road and obscuring Gotham from view.

Sudden visuals of Joker brutally murdering me on this mysterious road riddled my mind, my stomach heavily churning as I swallowed a mouthful of bile.

"Horty?" Joker's questionable tone pierced through the stale silence, prompting the miniscule hairs on the back of my neck to stand tall at the glorious sound.

"Yes, boss?" I squeaked, shaking gaze rotating to meet his.

"Calm down. I'm-uh, not going to kill you." He reassured me, ungloved fingers laced tightly around the rubber steering wheel as he took a slight right.

A single-family home appeared beyond the brush, buried deeply beyond the unpaved road as the tires tumbled down the pebbled path. My skull nearly collided with the window several times at the rough road, my palm claiming the door in an attempt to steady myself as the van came to a screeching halt.

"S-Sir?" I gulped, widened eyes fixated on the disheveled home to the immediate right. Miscellaneous items littered the weed-riddled yard, whereas the windows lay boarded up by thick, wooden boards.

"Home swee-t home." Joker grinned, his Cheshire grin stretching from ear-to-ear as he tore the keys from the ignition and climbed from the idle vehicle.

I collected my scattered thoughts, parted lips sealing once and for all as I, too, stumbled from the van. The soles of my boots met the vibrant pebbles below, which crunched beneath my weight as I closed the door with my elbow.

"Is this where you live?" I dumbly wondered, desperately taking in my surroundings as I surveyed the area. It smelt amazing out here, unlike the thick, musky Gotham air that I had grown used to. No — Out here, the air was thin and fresh, and drastically easier on my lungs. Out here, it was actually easy to breathe.

"Close your trap," Joker lightly scolded.
"Flies'll ge-t in."

My jaw instantly snapped shut, teeth clattering upon impact as my cheeks flushed bright scarlet.

"To answer your question," he added, fingers fiddling with the loosened tie around his neck. "This is where we live."

"We?" I gawked, jaw falling ajar once more. Joker skipped along the insistent concrete steps, a hand tangling in his matted, greasy locks as he flashed me a toothy grin.

"You and I, pal."

An immediate warmth filled my every limb as I struggled to conceal my broad grin. With slightly shaking legs and a swelled heart, I followed closely on the madman's heel, chest heaving as his fingers laced around the circular handle of the door.

"Welcome home, Horton." Joker grinned, thrusting the door open widely and a bit too aggressively. I nearly flinched as it collided with the drywall, surely leaving behind a considerable dent as we strut into the home.

A shiver ran down my spine as we entered the chilled environment, which smelt strongly of cigarette smoke and — death?

"Sorry for the smell," Joker stammered, fingers hovering over a nearby switch as the area instantly illuminated with artificial lighting.

The front door opened up to an immediate kitchen, considerably large in size, but dingy in appearance. The counters and cabinets were old and cracked, some holding on by a single hinge as they threatened to collapse at any moment. An open doorway hugged the right corner of the opposite wall, which I assumed lead to the rest of the house.

"Did somebody die in here recently?" I questioned, nose crinkling in disgust as the putrid stench.

"Yu-p." Joker replied shortly, smacking his lips together to enunciate the "p".
"This morning, ac-tu-a-lly. Nobody importan-t. Haven't-uh, had a chance to clean up."

"What me to help, sir?" I kindly offered. It was the least I could do to thank the man for this kind gesture.

I was going to live with him.

Joker spun on his heel, an amused grin encapturing his features as he rid his shoulders of the broad coat once more.

"That's wha-t I hired you for, isn't it?" He teased, several oily ringlets concealing his darkened vision as I let out a strangled laugh.

"I suppose so, sir."

The pair of us exchanged amused glances, a light and cheerful aura encapturing the area as we started in the direction of the doorway. Just as we were about to pass over the threshold, Joker tossed up a hand, signalling for me to halt in place.

My shoes skidded against the tile, a painful gulp traveling through my throat as I eyed him suspiciously.

"Hey-uh, Horty?" Joker droned, lazy eyes meeting my rigid form.

"Yes, sir?" I squeaked, beads of sweat instantly littering my forehead at his questionable stance.

"Nex-t time, you can just tell me if you don't like one of my toys instead of killin' them, kapeesh?"

My jaw instantly dropped at his statement, blood running cold as I nearly burst into tears. How the fuck..?

"O-Okay." I stuttered, swallowing thickly as Joker's palm meet the inbetween of my shoulders, a sincere, tight-lipped grin tugging at his scars.

"Perfect. Now, we've go-t some body parts to dis-pose of."

A/N: Now, the fun finally begins... ;)

Also, sorry for the OOC picture above. I'm running out of Joker header pictures that I haven't already used, and Heath's just so damn adorable in that picture sooo

Also (x2), those of you interested in Ledger Joker origin fics, I just finished one on fanfiction.net and I am OFFICIALLY unstable as fuck. Check it out if you've got some extra time...

Changes - by, SomeoneNewer