Hello everyone, Dani here! So, this is my first attempt at any sort of Batman fan fiction. I've always been a huge fan of both The Joker and Harley and after reading some of the amazing stories on here I was inspired to write my own. I greatly appreciate reviews and feedback, including constructive criticism, as I want this to be the best it could possibly be. So please, read, enjoy, and leave me a little something when you're finished. And as you've probably guessed, I don't own Batman, Joker, Harley or anything from the DC Universe, however much I may want to. So, without further ado, I present to you…
Matte Black Eyes
"Quin, I'm going downstairs to grab some coffee, you want a cup? Class starts in half an hour."
Twenty-five year old Harleen Quinzel slapped away the hand that was shaking her shoulder and annoying the hell out of her at the unholy hour of seven in the morning. Through her grogginess she heard an irritated sigh as the shaking stopped. Keeping her eyes closed and burying her head deep into her pillow, Harleen listened as her roommate stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her, exerting more force than was necessary. Rolling over, Harleen chuckled to herself quietly. She knew perfectly well that her morning crabbiness bothered her roommate Deanna to no end. However, that never detoured Harleen from being extra crabby whenever Deanna woke her up for an early morning class. She enjoyed bothering the perky red-haired girl and had always wondered how far her bothering could go before Deanna blew a fuse and asked…no, no, no….begged for a new roommate. However, it was the second last week of the semester, and so far Deanna had held up nicely. She was a challenge to crack, but Harleen liked a challenge. She still had fourteen days to break the girl she shared a room with. That was plenty of time.
Unwillingly, Harleen rolled out of bed, opening her eyes only when her feet hit the cold ceramic tiles. After a quick stretch, Harleen reached over to her bedside table and grabbed the television remote, switching on the morning news. There was always something going on in Gotham and every morning brought word of another murder, robbery, explosion or something along those lines. Turning up the volume, Harleen dragged herself to the washroom and turned on the sink. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stuck her tongue out at her dishevelled reflection. Stifling a yawn, Harleen quickly brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pulled her blonde bed head into a decently neat ponytail. She noted that her hair looked a bit greasy and she should have woken up a bit earlier to shower. However, she had chosen to sleep instead, and she was perfectly content with that decision. With one last look in the mirror, Harleen left the bathroom, deciding that she looked good enough for an hour and a half of class. Then she could come back to her dorm and sleep.
The first thing Harleen noticed when she was fully out of the bathroom was that Deanna had returned. And she had brought back two cups of coffee. Suddenly grateful that she still had Deanna around, Harleen approached the girl, who was sitting on the edge of her bed staring intently at the television. Harleen snatched a cup of coffee from Deanna's left hand and then sat down next to her, smiling as a thank you. It seemed that Deanna was so transfixed on the television; she barely even noticed Harleen's presence. The blonde woman zeroed in on the screen in an attempt to find out what was so interesting. Her eyes were met with the sombre images of a funeral procession. It looked like a big deal and it had made the morning news, so whoever had died sure was important.
"Well then," Harleen sighed dramatically, hoping her uncaring attitude would anger Deanna, "Who went and bit the dust?"
"Harvey Dent," Deanna's response was hollow, almost robotic. It was most certainly not the reaction Harleen had expected, never mind the one she had hoped to receive. There was a look in Deanna's eyes like she had just lost some great war or like her puppy had just died. Harleen bit her lip. So Gotham's White Knight was dead. She had her sneaking suspicions about who was behind the entire ordeal.
"He was murdered," Deanna mumbled, as if reading her roommate's thoughts, "By someone he trusted…You know, I actually thought that he could do this city some good."
"Well…" Harleen stopped abruptly, taking in what Deanna had actually said, "Wait, did you say that Harvey Dent trusted the Joker?"
"What?" Deanna finally tore her eyes away from the television and fixed Harleen with a sideways stare, "Of course he didn't. That man is a psychotic freak."
"Then who killed Dent?" Harleen was genuinely confused. Had Commissioner Gordon gone on a killing spree last night? That would certainly be interesting.
"Batman," Deanna spat the words like they were poison. Harleen's ears pricked up at the mention of Gotham's very own masked vigilante. Wasn't he supposed to be one of the good guys?
"I bet the Joker didn't like that one," Harleen chuckled, earning a harsh glare from Deanna, "I thought he wanted Dent all to himself. I mean, he blew up almost half of Gotham just to get to the guy."
"Who cares what he likes and doesn't like," Deanna hissed, standing up and heading for the door, "You talk about him like he's actually human, like he actually has a soul. It's a good thing he'll get what he deserves." And with that she left the room, slamming the door for the second time in what seemed like mere minutes. Harleen stared at the door, thoughtfully sipping her coffee and mulling over Deanna's words. After a few moments of complete silence, the alarm clock next to Harleen's bed began to beep like crazy. She got up to turn it off, noticing that Deanna had left the newspaper behind on the bed. Harleen knew that her alarm clock went off routinely on Monday mornings at a quarter after seven, meaning she still had fifteen minutes to get to class. Grabbing the paper, Harleen flopped back onto Deanna's bed and looked at the headline. To her immense surprise the front page did not feature a picture of Gotham's fallen DA. Rather, there was a frightening looking man with wild eyes and a Glasgow smile staring up at her from the paper. The headline above the picture was what shocked Harleen more than anything. It was simple and to the point.
Joker Apprehended
Amazing, thought Harleen. She had actually begun to believe that the Joker was actually unstoppable. That he would continue to pillage and burn Gotham until there was nothing left but a city of rubble. Again, Harleen's mind played back the words that Deanna had spoken only moments earlier.
"That man is a psychotic freak."
"Actually," Harleen muttered under her breath, "I've always thought he was kind of ingenious." It was quite true. Harleen doubted she understood the Joker and doubted she would ever get the chance to find out what made him tick, but she would have loved to have to opportunity to do so. He was just fascinating to her, a brilliant mind. True, his genius was channelled into destructive behaviours, but that was probably the result of a traumatic event in his childhood, or the use of severe drugs as a teen. The psychiatrist in her told her that no one could possibly be born like the Joker; dark, uncaring, inhumane, and virtually bent on destruction. No one could ever be like him without reason. What she would give to know the reason behind his hatred, the method to his madness.
A shrill ringing knocked Harleen out of her admittedly macabre thoughts and brought her back into reality. She lunged for her pillow, beneath which she kept her cell phone, and flipped open the tiny device.
"Talk to me," she spoke into the receiver.
"Where are you?" Harleen instantly recognized Deanna's voice on the other end of the call, "It's seven twenty-eight and you're not in class yet. I can't believe you're going to miss the most important day of the year."
Harleen's heart skipped a beat. She had completely forgotten. Today was the day her Social Psychology class would be given back their final thesis papers. She hung up on Deanna without another word and grabbed a sweatshirt from the closest drawer, slipping it on over her pyjama top. Today was the day she would find out if she had enough points to apply for an internship at Arkham Asylum. She needed at least a B on her thesis to have a high enough grade to apply, and she was quite confident she had received such. Harleen scooped up her backpack from the corner and headed out the door, twice as fast as Deanna had done. She slammed the door twice as hard as well; just for good measure.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it," Harleen cussed to herself as she literally sprinted across campus to the building that housed the Psychology Department. She knew she was going to be late and she knew she was going to look like a wreck, but she couldn't care less. Her stomach was in knots over receiving her thesis. Whether she was nervous to excited, it was hard for even her to tell. After what seemed like hours of running, Harleen skidded to a halt just outside the Psychology building and quickly composed herself before entering and power walking to her tutorial room, trying to look as natural as possible.
When she finally reached Room 129, Harleen took a deep breath and looked at the closed door. She could see her Teacher's Assistant sitting at his desk, calling students up one by one and handing back the fifteen page assignment. Licking her lips, Harleen opened the classroom door, feeling dozens of eyes upon her and almost liking the attention. The only person's whose attention bothered her was her TA, Mr. Diggs. He was a grade-A prick, to put things nicely.
"You're late Ms. Quinzel," he said in his ugly, raspy voice.
"Sorry Mr. Diggs," Harleen mumbled, "Someone didn't bother to wake me up." She shot a glance at Deanna and winked at her. The red-headed girl narrowed her eyes at Harleen, who turned her attention back to Mr. Diggs, who was now holding a red folder out towards her. Harleen recognized the red folder instantly. She had submitted her thesis inside of it. Happily, she hopped over to the teacher's desk and took it from him, noticing the sneer in his eyes. Harleen walked to a seat at the back of the classroom, not listening to what Mr. Diggs was addressing the rest of the class with. She was too nervous to see what was contained within the red folder in her hands. She sat down and stared down at the folder for a few moments before swallowing her fear and opening it up. When she did her breath caught in her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. Harleen could practically see her future falling down around her ears.
All because of the large, red F that was stamped on the front page of her thesis.