Their madness coincided sometimes.
The world was hazy, green and purple, red and black, never knowing what it wanted to be. Directions had colors and buildings choked and sputtered, coughing up people through their revolving doors and inhaling them again as the cycle went round and round. Nothing was the same in that haze of color and screams, and Harley Quinn could hardly remember what it was like before her arms seemed permanently dyed red and black and blue.
What's black and white and red all over?
Not that she wanted to remember. In this world, in this life, harsh noise turned into singing and singing was roaring, comforting, soothing, crashing white noise. He sang sometimes when they were alone, without any of the usual thugs surrounding them. She wasn't meant to hear- or at least, she wasn't meant to act like she heard. His voice was scratchy, sonorous, sleepy, sharp, sandy, sweet, sour… She'd run out of 's' words. His voice was the letter 's', slithering through one ear and out the other, quiet humming in the dark.
His humming filled her brain and pushed out all else, inviting her to see the world in jewel tones and coaxing laughter out of her in times when even their most seasoned workers swallowed and looked away. It was beautiful, when he found happiness in the most dreadful of things. It was dreadful when he found happiness in her beauty.
She was even more beautiful now. With a fond giggle she remembered the time she'd become coated in blood up to her ears, staining the shimmering blonde of her hair with dark red. The roaring of buzzsaws still rang around her eardrums when she thought about it, shredding her mind until all she could see was red red red and all she could hear was his laughter. Harlequin's hair had to be cut- there was no saving the locks once the liquid had dried, caking in bodily fluids.
He'd proclaimed her to be the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen, as she dripped in gore and licked a bit of grey matter from her cheek. It tasted slick with blood and he'd kissed the copper away.
She was covered in blood now, she seemed to remember, body moving on autopilot against all opponents that he pointed her to. His good little hound, his good little clown: wind her up, watch her go. They were robbing a bank she recalled with some difficulty, caught up in dodging the attacks launched against her by brave security guards. Too many cotton-candy thoughts drifted through her tangled mind, some shaped like smiles and some screaming with the humming that dominated her life, and she needed to try and focus. He needed her to focus.
Gunfire roared past her, mowing down two officers who had pulled their weapons on the petite clown and her prince sailed by, maniacal glee pouring off him. It seeped into her pores and curled itself in her stomach, energizing her, spurring her to his side. The thugs could take care of the rest of the guards; there weren't too many left standing anyway.
Caught up in the moment, Harley Quinn back flipped her way to the Joker's side. The humming was stronger here, when she was near him, as if he gave it off naturally. The air hung with insanity, the very molecules vibrating from being so close to the Clown Prince and his Creation. He was chaos and disorder, laughter and fun, death incarnate- she, a willing victim and accomplice.
Without words, he handed her a few small explosives and gestured to the doors of the vault before retreating to a safe distance. She grinned and pranced over to the metal, applying the devices with practiced ease. When the last one was set, she turned to give him a thumbs-up, grinning widely. He returned the expression with one of his famous smiles and raised the remote control, jabbing the red button.
Harley screamed with laughter, realizing she'd forgotten to get out of the way of the blast. She flattened to the floor on instinct and covered her head with her arms, flimsy protection against the great metal of the door. Shrapnel whizzed through the air above her, sounding like a toy plane, and she made the noises in her head to go along with it, pretending she was flying one of the remote control helicopters Joker had back at the hideout. The metal shredded her back, the jumpsuit she wore flimsy protection against the sharp material. As the dust settled, screams of the hostages could be heard back the way they'd come, people who no doubt expected the building to collapse on them any second. Instead of the humming, her ears rang with his laughter and she joined him, rising unsteadily to her feet when she realized her body still worked. Oh, she would need more than a few stitches to piece together the hanging skin of her back, but that was the joke. She'd be stitched back together- the vault door wouldn't!
"Good one, Mistah J!" She howled, falling into step beside him as they entered the newly opened vault. He hung back for a moment to inspect his handiwork and her injuries with a grin, before taking a theatrical bow with a wave of his hand and a wink.
Their men, those that didn't have guns trained on the hostages, trooped in dutifully behind them. Some stopped to gawk at the clown girl's back but they had enough sense to stay quiet as their boss turned to address them, hanging a casual arm over Harley's shoulder. His purple coat sleeve quickly became stained with blood, though he didn't seem to mind.
"Load up boys!" The clown roared, raising his gun above his head and firing once into the air. Everyone but Harley flinched and scrambled to begin stuffing stacks of cash into bags, afraid that the next shot the gun fired would be somewhere vital.
His fingers stroked up and down her shoulder, purposefully poking at cuts on her skin. The Joker smiled down at her when he felt her tense at the pain, and she looked up with big blue eyes full of tears and laughter. Cotton-candy thoughts blew by on the wind and it was better to just let him be her thought: his make-up streaked face, the layers of greasy, stringy green hair, the twist of the brilliantly red scars. The world was red and black for the moment, and it was one of the rare moments their madness decided to unite, decided to bind creator and creation once again until all they could stand to do was be together.
Lips claimed lips with a hungry fury. He tasted like sweat and greasepaint and her mouth was slick with the taste of blood. She'd bitten the inside of her cheek until it bled and his tongue flicked the wound before he pulled away, letting a fresh flow of copper taste overwhelm her. Harley thought she might die in that moment and have lived all that was worthwhile to live.
Distant banging noises alerted them to an unwelcome presence and the Joker fired another shot into the air, hand tightening on her shoulder in anticipation. The thugs turned and grouped up behind the couple as the Batman appeared at the end of the hallway. It wasn't his usual style to announce himself so blatantly and distantly, Harley heard a change in the humming energy of her clown, a change only the Bat could bring around.
Blood loss was making her delirious and as he released her to stand before his adversary, the harlequin slumped to the ground, giggling. Her legs felt like jelly and she found she rather liked the sensation, tightening her muscles and feeling the frustrating numbness. Blue eyes looked behind her, searching out the source of the battle she could hear in the background, and she watched as her Joker brought a knife to a gunfight.
Not actual guns, of course. The Batman didn't use real guns.
A pink tongue poked through her lips at the thought, directed at the large man in black who was looking everywhere but in her direction. He was so self-righteous all the time, so secure that what he was doing was the right thing. In her purple and red and green and black world, he was a mixture of all the colors, strobing between them without hesitation. The sight hurt her eyes. She shut them and instantly found the blackness soothing, listening to the hum of his voice in her ears instead of what her eyes would tell her.
Rough hands grabbed her up, larger than those of her prince, not as gentle as the Batman would have been. Thrown over a wide shoulder, someone cursed and shifted under the unexpected weight- Harley had muscles, though she didn't look it. Shrieking with laughter, the clown opened her eyes and banged on the back of the man carrying her with her tiny fists, putting on quite the display as the Joker's men supported her out of the room. Their boss was taking most of the Bat's attention and they knew they needed to slip away while they could, before a Batarang stretched a net across the door of the vault.
The main hall of the bank was empty expect for dead civlians at the wrong place at the wrong time and the collapsed bodies of their fallen comrades. The Batman would never kill: oh no, they were merely unconscious from a well-placed blow to the head. The flying rat was too much of a coward to do anyone in. A few of the thugs with lighter loads stopped to check their friends- if they could be roused, they stumbled after the group with bleary eyes and throbbing heads. If they couldn't, they were left for the police; there was always more hired help available.
Outside, police sirens wailed in the distance. Harley was thrown into the back of the Joker's car, laid out on the seat, and their men piled into the purple van behind the car with the stolen money. The one assigned to drive the clown's car peered down nervously at the bleeding blonde, afraid that she would expire right in front of him. What would the boss do to the one who watched his girl die? She laughed at the expression on his face and reached out to poke his cheek with one bloodstained finger, leaving a red spot on the skin. She pushed the corner of his mouth up until half his face was contorted into a smile, before she collapsed against the leather of the seats again, pleased with herself.
"Why so serious?" She asked him, lidded eyes both watching the man and the clouds in the sky. They'd begun to take on a familiar shape, obligingly forming her sweetheart's smile, and she answered them with a grin of her own, blood-flecked teeth the perfect pair to the red smile she imagined in the sky. The humming in her eyes was growing louder and Harley struggled to sit up, watching the door of the bank for the Joker. He was coming- she just knew it.
Another explosion rocked the foundation of the bank and a piece of wall came tumbling down, revealing her clown standing in the rubble. His coat was painted white with cement dust, turning his entire body the same shade as his face. As the plaster settled, the entire area was white for a mere moment, and in that moment his green hair and brilliant red grin were all that could be seen. Harley let out a long whooping cheer at the sight and slumped, eyelids fluttering, the image stamped into her brain to go along with his voice of 's's and sighs. The men took up her call, hooting and howling for their boss as he tore across the street and flung himself into the passenger seat of his car. Pounding a hand on the dashboard, the Joker roared for the car to start and the frightened man obliged, stomping on the gas and sending the car careening down the street.
The building he'd left behind had another occupant stirring inside, a dark figure now flecked with white, but they were gone before the Batman had fully extracted himself from the rubble.
It was a mad dash back to their hideout in the middle of broad daylight, and the driver hit more than a few cars and innocent bystanders in his haste to flee the scene. The clown prince was calling out the man's score as he went, tallying the amount of damage done, pleased as punch when a third pedestrian disappeared underneath the wheels of the vehicle with a thud and a 'squelch'. The streaks of red were still drying on the pavement when the car and van pulled up to the warehouse they'd been staying at, disappearing underneath the grey roof.
Men jumped from the van with their bags, continuing to scream their triumph to the rafters, and the Joker listened to the cacophony as if it were the sweetest music. His driver shakily exited the vehicle and peered into the backseat, checking to see if Harley Quinn was still alive- hopefully she hadn't hit her head on one of the seats. It had been quite the bumpy ride.
Her tiny chest still fluttered with breath and he breathed a sigh of relief, meeting eyes with his boss who had stopped to see what he was looking at.
"There you are Harls," The clown drawled, leaning over the edge of the car as though speaking to a neighbor about pleasant weather. The girl's eyes popped open at the sound of his voice and she strained to lift her head, nodding like a puppy eager to receive attention from its master.
She was taken from the car in Mr. J's arms, with him whistling in her ear as he carried her through the warehouse. Some of the men stopped to stare, wondering if this was going to be the last time they saw the girl; she was deathly pale from blood loss and her back appeared as if someone had taken a meat grinder to the skin.
But the more experienced among them knew that this was nothing- knew that they did such things to each other for fun, for sport. It was against the rules for one of them to die.
The needle dived in and out of her skin at a steady pace and the humming in her ears had transferred over to real life. The Joker sang softly as he sewed up his pretty little harlequin doll, careful to make sure he pulled and tugged just a bit harder than was needed. Harley relaxed under his ministrations, careful to remain awake to give the proper reaction to a particularly rough tug- her clown liked to hear words of encouragement as he worked, and she did have to thank him properly for fixing her up nicely.
"Hey, uh, what's black, and white, and red all over?" The question fell off his lips and Harley had to think a minute before she understood the joke, craning her head back to catch the little smirk on his face that she knew would be there.
"Me!" She shrieked in her high-pitched voice and he nodded, winking one green eye slowly. Giggling, she mimicked the action before allowing herself to relax against the bed again, the tug and sharp feeling of the needle comforting. This was not the first time he'd sewed her up and by now, the familiarity was nice.
"What's that song you're always singing, Mistah J?" The girl mumbled into the pillow and the hands on her back stilled in their work, halfway through pulling a dangling flap of skin back into place. The silence stretched so long that even in her pleasant, drowsy state, the Harlequin began to panic that she'd said the wrong thing. Blue eyes peered over her shoulder frantically, finding his face an unreadable mask as he straddled her legs.
Finally, he spoke, as if there had never been a pause.
"I don't sing, girly."
A pout spread across her pale lips and she was about to protest his answer before one of the cotton-candy cloud thoughts in her head warned her against doing so. There was no telling what the consequences might be.
The pleasant buzz of their time together filled her once again and she let the matter go, nuzzling into the pillow as though it were his chest. Eventually, she figured out that he was right. The Joker didn't sing.
He hummed. On and on, endlessly in her mind.
Harley laughed once, high-pitched and loud, and her clown gave her a smile. He didn't know the joke, but he didn't have to. She was one of his greatest.