Stockholm Syndrome
After hearing about and grieving over Heath Ledger's sudden and undeserved death, I decided to abandon "Fee, Fi, Fo" and work on this story as a kind of therapeutic process of dealing with what happened. I also abandoned my previous Batman Begins fic because of a little unpleasant flame I got. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the overly-sensitive type when it comes to flames, but that one just seemed pretty harsh for me to process, since I read it the same day Heath died, right after finding that out. Well, anywhoo, this is my interpretation of how Harley Quinn could've played into the upcoming Dark Knight movie. She is drastically younger in this fic, roughly 14, and this is solely because everybody's drastically younger in Christopher Nolan's Batman movies. So, if you don't like it, don't read it, and don't bitch at be about it! And, most importantly, R.I.P. Heath!! WARNING: This story will contain, like Fee, Fi, Fo, physical, psychological, and sexual abuse upon a minor. DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU!! DISCLAIMER: All obvious Batman characters Bob Kane. Even though I'm sort of reinterpreting Harley in this, she is NOT and WILL NEVER BE mine!
Chapter One: Of Trauma, Solace, and Trust (Part One).
14-year-old Harleen Quinzel sat in the corner of the window-less, cold room she was kept in, tucking her severely scraped knees up to her chin, into the classic fetal position, like a terrified animal. Hell, she would look like a terrified animal to anyone who would come across her right now. Her slender, athletic gymnast's body was naked and bruised in several shades of blues, greens, and blacks, contrasting heavily with the lucid paleness of her once beige skin. Her naturally platinum blonde, shoulder-length hair was now three times darker than it used to be, due to all the grime and dried blood that had built up over the time of her captivity. The notorious luster Harleen's hair was blessed with was also gone. Now it hung dull and lifeless from her face, as if it were straw. A black leather collar, which was tethered to the wall she was leaning against by the means of a thick, heavy chain held her prisoner by the neck as well, crushing any hopes she may have had of escaping.
Harleen had been here for 2 weeks now, and she'd already experienced more than anybody should of pain and hell in a lifetime. Over these two weeks, she had been beaten, tortured, raped, and humiliated by a man who called himself the Joker, who claimed that she was his, and nobody else's. After going through all of these nightmarish scenarios, the young girl couldn't even remember clearly how she even got to be here, nor did she have any clue that she had been in this room for two weeks. But she constantly tried to remember how she wound up where she currently was, and could only muster up the vague memory of being on a class fieldtrip, to, possibly the Gotham City Art Center…it was all so blurry, Harleen couldn't be certain though. At least she remembered something! In fact, she couldn't even remember what her parents looked like anymore, or what their names were! Were her parents even looking for her now? Did they remember their own baby girl? It seemed as though Harleen had been in this dark, damp cell-like room for years. She had completely lost sense of time, and even reality.
"Oh, sweetheart! Daddy's home!" Oh no! It was him!!
The Joker had to be on the other side of that door across from her, Harleen knew it! She had grown accustomed to his maniacal voice, and knew the sadistic sing-song tone it had now all too well. It was the tone of voice he used when he wanted to…"play with her". He called it "playing" but Harleen knew that "playing" was really a session of being tortured and psychologically abused. She absolutely hated the very thought of "playing" with the creepy, freakish bastard! Instinctively at hearing-and seeing-the door open and his silhouette in its wake, Harleen's gray-blue eyes, which were already large, got wider still, and she tightened her fetal position, backing into the dark left-hand corner of the room frantically. She didn't even care at this point that the collar around her neck was being pulled taut by the tethered chain; she'd rather choke to death right now than spend a moment with him!