A/N: Hey, there! So this is going to be a series of oneshots that chronicle what life is like living with everyone's favorite mass-murdering clown, told from the perspective of his lovely, deranged sidekick, Harley Quinn. Some of this stuff (including this chapter) might come off as a little dark, so... yeah. Just throwin' that out there. You've been warned! *Cue dramatic music.*
This is an attempt at Ledger's Joker and "Nolanizing" Harley to the point where she's a more realistic, believable character. I've always viewed her as just a damaged woman who's simply fallen hard for the wrong man, and I've tried to bring that sympathetic aspect about her to this story. I hope you enjoy!
In the land of gods and monsters
I was an angel
Living in the garden of evil
- Gods and Monsters, Lana Del Rey
There is deft skill in the quirk of his fingers as he twirls his switchblade knife, melancholic beauty in the way its silvery glint catches the glow of the moon. There's danger in every swaggering step he takes, weather-worn boots thudding against carpeted floor.
"When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, 'What will I be'…?"
They'd been a young couple. Vintage-loving hipsters who'd tried to pretend they lived in the sixties, and kept an ancient record player in the corner of their living room, and hadn't been smart enough to lock their windows. It was easy. So disgustingly, laughably easy. The woman, Harley had slit her throat, while J put a cord around her husband's neck.
"Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Here's what she said to me…"
She watches him circle the bodies, keeping time with the song blaring on their record player. Smiles at the jovial lilt in his gait, the way the moon illuminates his tall, slender frame, gleams against his scruffy, purple trench coat. He whispers to them, muttering incoherent nothings, laughing breathlessly at their empty, unseeing eyes. And Harley's smile widens. Because he couldn't be more wonderful, and she loves that when she's with J, everything is beautiful and new; scintillating and wondrous and so damn funny.
"Que sera, sera… whatever will be, will be… the future's not ours to see…"
The Joker takes the man by the throat. Dark eyes narrow in concentration. Gloved fingers twitch. The switchblade gleams again as J dexterously carves a Glasgow smile, humming along to the song tunelessly.
"When I grew up and fell in love, I asked my sweetheart, 'What lies ahead'…?"
Harley turns away, at that. This is J in his element, carving the smile. She feels like she's imposing simply watching him work. So with a final, lingering look, she shambles off on her own. The music fades to a dull whine and the moonlight weakens as she floats through the ransacked house, stepping over scattered papers strewn about in the wake of their "visit," crushing devastated trinkets beneath the high-heeled soles of her boots.
"Will we have rainbows, day after day…?"
She finds herself in a bedroom. Shadows creep and stretch along the walls. White-lace curtains sway against a gentle breeze. Her sapphire-stone eyes roll across the old-fashioned furniture, the various, scattered toys, the child-sized bed resting in the corner. A faint rustling sound reaches her ears from behind her, in the closet. She spins, gun drawn, and kicks the door open.
"Que sera, sera… whatever will be, will be… the future's not ours to see, que sera, sera…"
Brown eyes gaze up at Harley from the darkest recess of that closet, wide and fluttering and frightened. Gentle black curls frame a fair-skinned face. Tiny fingers cover tiny ears, little legs pulled up to a small chest. Those brown eyes glisten with tears. Trails of silver cascade down her rosy cheeks, and she gasps, shrinking further into the darkness, as if hoping she hadn't been seen.
"Harley!"
"Now I have children of my own, they ask their mother, 'What will I be'…?"
And for a moment – for the faintest, most fleeting moment – Harley feels her heart twinge. And she pictures watching those big brown eyes wink sleepily in her arms at night as she cradles that girl to her chest, as the mother she's always dreamed of being. And she sees that child fumbling with J's knives, full of playful innocence, as he stoops down and teaches her which one is which and what they're best used for.
"Will I be handsome? Will I be rich? I tell them tenderly…"
And she wonders what it would be like to hold that girl in her arms, with J's arm slung over her shoulder, the three of them sitting quietly, a family unit, the family she's always fantasized of starting with him. And she sees opportunity: a child – an orphan – all alone, with no one to take care of her, someone so young that within a few years she probably won't even remember the hipster morons with the age-old record player and the affinity for unlocked windows…
"Hey…" she smiles tenderly. Puts away the gun. Crawls forward on her knees, reaching out a bloodstained hand to the shivering child before her, who in turn shrinks further away.
"Hey… hey, it's alright, honey… it's alright… I'm not gonna hurt you…"
"We gotta get a move on, toots!"
Harley flies away from the child, clearing her throat, rising to her feet. The Joker's voice is down the hall. His heavy, swaying footfalls round the corner, come to a halt, and suddenly, he's standing just behind her. She smiles at him, albeit feebly. But he knows something's not right. Beneath the layers of greasepaint, his expression is grave. His fingers are twirling the switchblade, now slick with fresh blood. He looks at her. At the closet door she's trying desperately to conceal. Knits his brow. Sighs. Lets his eyes roll back melodramatically, marching towards her and drawing his gun.
"Now, n-now wait a minute, J…" she flattens herself against the door. "J, no. Don't – "
He tosses her out of his way with an adroit wrench of the arm. Throws open the closet door. Harley pales.
There's a girlish scream. A gunshot. A sickening thump and the scent of fresh blood. And Mr. J steps out of that closet with an accomplished sigh, slamming the door shut, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck.
In a flash, reality comes flooding back to Harley at full-force. And the images still racing through her mind, the vivid fantasies of she and the Joker and the girl with the wide, brown eyes bleed into nothingness. And all that's left is a cold, aching void. A hurt she has no choice but to accept, because she's brought it upon herself.
"The future's not ours to see… que sera, sera…"
Wordlessly, the Joker sweeps past her, sauntering into the hallway. And, blinking, Harley follows. She always does.
"What will be, will be…"
A/N: The song on the record player is "Que Sera, Sera" by Doris Day, which, for some reason, I've always found creepy as hell... I could totally picture the Joker just killing away whilst it plays in the background, lol. It's even used in the trailer for the second season of "American Horror Story" (badass show, by the way. If you haven't seen it yet... to the Netflix! Away with ye!)
Anyway, enough of my senseless rambling. Thanks so much for reading! Let me know if you like it so far. I'd love a review ;D
- xXTheWalkingDixonxX