[Author's Note: I'm really sick right now? And I'm crying on the inside. Sooooooo... Here's some kinda fluffy shit. I tried to make it cute as I could. I don't know why Mister J sucks at cooking so hard.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman in any of its multiple forms, nor do I own any of these characters. Please don't sue, kthxbye.]
"If you don't silence that BLASTED COUGHING, I swear I will come up there and SILENCE IT FOR YOU." The Joker was not an easy roommate at the best of times. Even Harley could admit that much. And after a day or so of oblivious carryings-on, he'd finally noticed the lack of help and care that he was accustomed to. This was the way it always went, Harley mused with a bitter little smile. He ignored her when she was there, but the moment that something went wrong and he had nobody but himself to blame? Suddenly he'd go searching for his little harlequin. And she let him do it.
She didn't respond. Let him work for it, spiteful though the thought might be. Let him put the effort in for once. Leaning back into her cushions, Harley closed her eyes and sniffled pitiably. God, this sucked. Her head was pounding, and her chest was tight with mucus and lack of airflow. Her throat felt like she was swallowing glass, and the rattling, meaty cough that punctured her lungs was no picnic either. Another cough racked her body and she convulsed forward.
That, apparently, was the straw that broke the camel's back, because she heard the Joker's footsteps as he stormed up the stairs. Oh, and he was definitely storming. "Haaaaaaarleeeey!" he roared, and then he was in her room, throwing the door open with a dramatic gesture, his chest heaving as though he was breathless with rage. Once his eyes actually fell on her, he looked... confused. The anger left, as quickly as it had come. "What are you doing still in bed?"
Harley propped herself up against her pillows, looking at him with sickness-dulled eyes. She parted her bangs with her fingers, choking back her revulsion when they were greasy to the touch. "Sorry, Mistah J." she said, and God was that her voice? That croaking, hoarse rasp? Talk about sexy... "I, uh... I'll be up in just a minute." Idiot! Why would you say something like that? You can barely sit up, let alone be at your psychopathic boyfriend's beck and call. "Just not feelin' a hundred percent today, is all."
"I can see that. You are a sight for sore eyes, pet." Harley didn't appreciate the tone, but was suitably mortified at his comment. "Don't bother coming down; you appear to be... leaking. I don't want the boys, much less myself, to catch whatever virus you've contracted. Such a weak, pathetic creature." The insult was tossed out in a casual manner that made the sting so much worse.
"Y-" Harley's voice broke, body betraying her emotions. A clear of the throat, and she tried again. "Yes, Boss." She fought to keep her voice steady and her face passive, but clearly not well enough.
"Oh, what's wrong?" Mister J was visibly irritated now, the edge to his voice even sharper than usual. Was he already sick of her for the day?
"N-n-nothing, Puddin'. I'm just..." Somewhere deep inside of Harley's stomach, something fluttered. Then pushed. Then clawed. It made its way out of her stomach, reaching her lungs and heart, which began to race, before moving to her throat. The proverbial dam broke, and all those feelings that she constantly tried to push down fought their way to her tongue. A pitiful wail tore its way from somewhere deep inside her, and she realised with a sickening lurch that she was crying. "I-I-I just want you to be nice to meeee!" she sobbed, the very picture of wretchedness. "I take care of you 364 days a year; can't you give me just one day where you do the same? Where you at least pretend to give a shit about me?"
The Joker drew himself up in affront, those harsh green eyes regarding her coldly. He looked very much like he would like to slap her, but was too far away to muster the effort. He leaned in, hands folded behind his back, and he grinned, still with those cold eyes. "Oh, Harley." He sounded so... disappointed. "I'll give you a day when you prove to me that you're worth it."
She reeled backwards as if he had slapped her, which triggered another round of violent coughing. He spared her a single dismissive glance before turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him.
Thirty minutes later (if that), her door swung open again. There stood her Puddin', his hair slicked back in a way that suggested he'd been carding his fingers through it, a sheen of sweat on his upper lip that begged to be wiped (licked) off, and a... bowl of something steaming in his hands. He walked forward cautiously, taking care not to spill anything. For the self-proclaimed 'Court Jester of Chaos', Mister J was pretty persnickety about the carpeting. He made it to Harley's bedside table, where he put it down forcefully. Liquid slopped over the sides, and it smelled like... dish soap? And a little bit of burned skin. "I tried to make you soup." he muttered, gesturing at the bowl. He seemed almost awkward about this kind gesture, like he wasn't sure if he was doing it right. "Can't have you sick for too long; the lair is already a mess. Need you around to clean up and keep the boys in line."
Harley pressed a hand to her heart underneath the covers, feeling the pleasant race that accompanied the efforts of her Puddin'. She smiled at him, wide as she could manage. "Thank you, Boss." she said, careful to look down. She didn't want to scare him off, not after he'd done all of this.
A satisfied grunt from her counterpart, and then he was lifting up the duvet and sliding in next to her. Mister J pressed his warmth up against her side, humming softly to himself as he adjusted his position. "I have better things to be doing than taking care of you." he announced, more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Harley. "So you will be suitably grateful once you can breathe without wheezing, yes?"
"Yessir, Mistah J!" Harley nodded as forcefully as she could, her swollen brain rattling around in her swollen skull. Ouch. "I'll do whatever you need me to!" Not like that was much different from normal, if she was being honest with herself, but there you go.
The Joker regarded her for a moment, before cracking a smile. "Good girl." he oozed, condescending as always, patting her hair before recoiling at the grease. "You're disgusting." he said, wiping his fingertips on the duvet in an over-exaggerated fashion.
Harley hung her head shamefully, knowing that he was right. Being sick was no excuse; she still had to put in the effort for him. After all, he could do so much better than her, so she had to provide incentive for him to stick around. Ugly, something in the back of her head hissed, that sinister little voice that cropped up in her darkest moments. She bit her lip, eyes sliding shut as tears prickled at her lashes.
"Oh, Pooh, don't cry." She could never tell if he was being genuine with his emotions and statements. Was this another one of the few times he actually seemed to care about her? Or another set-up to a cruel joke? Arms enveloped her mid-though, and she straight-up melted. Gooey eyes regarded Mister J as he stroked her hair, seemingly uncaring about the grease. At one point, he leaned down and kissed her feverish forehead, her crimson-stained cheeks, and her cracked lips. "My poor baby," he cooed, and she pressed further into his chest. Warm, safe, and loved, for once. "I can't believe somebody got you sick. If I find out who the bastard is, I promise to kill them."
That was as close to an apology for earlier as she was going to get, and Harley had never been one for looking a gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you, Puddin'." she said, and with her cracked lips that were already torn to bleeding, she forced a smile.