All rights to DC. I don't own anything, though I wish I did.
I watched her the first time she came here, nervous and apprehensive but still determined to prove herself. I watched as she walked down the corridors, clutching her files to her chest, tottering along behind Dr Arkham with the rest of the interns in her high heels and shorter skirts. I remember her being the only girl. Or the only one that mattered. Her young fresh face bore no scares, no dark eyes or black lips, her checks still grew pink when she blushed and her lips were still full and red. Her skin was pale and soft, but back then more was on show, those short skirts and tight fitting shirts allowed me to picture every inch, although I still do since that skin tight costume leaves little to the imagination.
She never analyzed me. Never spoke to me. And even though my cell is perfectly placed so I can see her everyday, she never once looked my way. She looked at him though. Yes, how she looked at him. I saw her the day he was named her patient, her perfect faced flushed with excitement and noticed the lighter steps she took.
I also saw her on her way to visit him late at night. I heard the doors to his open and close with a slight hiss. I died that night. For when she emerged she was not, could never be mine. She was his. He white painted face proved it and her musical voice changed to harsher tones, her true accent manifesting itself for him. She was no longer my perfect doctor, she was his jester, his little fool. His harlequin. His Harley Quinn.
Oh but I saw her still. She would be dragged back to Arkham by the Bat, bruised and battered, but not by Batman. It was common knowledge he hit her, beat and punched and kicked her. One time he threw her out of a window. I saw red when I heard, I would never treat her that way. Never, I would cherish her as a queen. The queen she deserves to be. Not his princess, or the Duchess of Stooges. No. A true queen. My queen.
But she'd always go back to him, no matter how many bruises or broken bones or insults he gave her she always run back to him. She loves him, though I cant understand why. He doesn't love her, he just uses her for his selfish reasons. But she can't see that, her obsession blinds her and prevents her from seeing the truth.
Her cell isn't too far away from mine, but far from his. It makes me better that she is closer to me. And in the rec room I can be with her, sit next to her and talk to her, though I'd never say what is in my heart. Never profess my love and swear my undying devotion to her.
But at night, when I'm alone in my cell and the only sound is the buzz of the cell block generator, I lie on my bed and close my eyes and she says she loves me too. Her lips close over mine and her hands wrap around my neck, while mine entwine themselves in her hair, follow the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. Im in dreams there is only us. And it is perfect.