I am absolutely mesmerised by Heath's Joker, I really am. I won't do him justice, but here he is, complete with a new take on Harley Quinn... one of my favourite characters. Their relationship is fantastically twisted. I love it!

She had never held a gun before, honest to God - not once. It was unexpectedly heavy, considering its size. Her fingers could barely hold it up, although that was more from the trembling than from the weight. She gingerly held it up, pointed it to the man's head. He whimpered. Beside her, The Joker grinned.

"Point blank, darling." He drawled. "Now, that could get messy, couldn't it?"

Harley's fingers merely shook at the trigger. "You want me to move back?"

The Joker cocked his head to one side in exaggerated consideration. "Let me see-" He reached over for the gun, carelessly throwing it over his shoulder. "Let's lose the gun-"

"So now I've got to kill him with my bare hands, yeah?" Harley snapped, still shaking. "That neat enough for you?"

The Joker raised an eyebrow. "Did I say that, Harley Quinn?" His voice was dangerously cold.

"No." She mumbled, looking at her feet.

"Good." He reached into his pocket, and pulled from it a switchblade, already grimy, but fatally sharp. "What you want," He said, leering in at her, "Is a knife."

"I have to use a knife?" Harley swallowed. It seemed so… so… brutal. Intimate, almost. "Thought it'd get too… messy?"

"Not if you do it properly." The Joker lazily grabbed the man by the neck, the switchblade pressed immediately up against his neck. "Now, this-" He pushed the blade in further. "This is not the way to do it…" The man gasped with relief as The Joker let him fall, convulsing, to the ground.

"Main artery." Harley hadn't gone to med school for nothing. "Heavy bleeding."

"Very good." He purred, crossing over to her and stroking her cheek with the knife. "All that choking… so distracting." She tensed slightly as he moved closer. "My little Harley Quinn."

He wasn't wrong, she was his. Completely. She tentatively lifted a hand to stroke his own cheeks, avoiding the scars. He didn't like it when she touched the scars. To her surprise, he seemed to be in a good mood, and allowed it, even wrapping one arm around her.

"Where do I stab him, then?"

"I'd go for the chest." The Joker grinned with anticipation. "Pretty much anywhere will do the trick, you know?" He slid the blade down from her cheek to just below her collarbone, carelessly leaving a thread-like cut as he did so. She bit her lip. "Go on," He whispered, lips brushing her neck. "Do it." She wrapped her fingers around the blade.

"I've never-"

"Killed?" The Joker's tongue darted to his top lip for a split second. "I know."

"Then-"

"What've you got to lose?" He wrapped his hand around her hand, leading it towards the man. "Nothing but your inhibitions, Harley." He gave a low laugh.

"What about-"

"The man? Who knows! I just found him." The Joker shrugged, a smile tugging at his distorted mouth. "I don't know who he is. That's fair, now, isn't it? Some might call it…" He grinned, baring his teeth, "…natural selection."

Harley swallowed.

"My little harlequin vision of beauty," He breathed, half sarcastic, running a finger down her arm. "Think of it as… ah, a rite of passage, yes?"

The man whimpered again, much to Harley's alarm. "Is this really-"

"Do it." He hissed, pushing her forwards roughly.

Harley stumbled forwards, knife clutched clumsily in her hand. The chest, the chest… She roughly grabbed the man by the collar, avoiding looking at his face. Like a child playing hide and seek, what she couldn't see, did not exist… She swallowed again.

"Haar-leey," The Joker said, in his sing-song voice, a dangerous note of impatience creeping in. "Is there a problem?"

No point in putting it off any further. Slowly, she slid the knife into the man's chest. So little resistance, so little blood… The man gasped yet again, falling to his knees, as Harley stepped back in horror and let go of the switchblade, which remained half impaled in his chest, like a grotesque Halloween costume.

"Further." The Joker said icily. "Finish the job now, Harley."

Half whimpering, she knelt by the man. "Sorry." She breathed, as she reached out to push the blade in further. Blood rushed out to meet it, and she leapt back as he slowly collapsed, his eyes full of pain. Her hands had specks of blood carefully decorating them, which she stared at in distant horror.

She half crawled back to the Joker, shaking violently. She felt sick.

"Good." He said, his voice impassive. "Very good." He reached out a hand to help her up, all gentleman. She took it, her fingers slippery with… She trembled, trying not to look at the dead man beside them.

"Did I do it right?" She croaked.

He didn't answer, instead inspecting her hand, running his thumbs over the blood specks. The henchmen who had previously been holding the man still were now dragging his body from the room, anticipating The Joker's next demand, and not wishing to fail him. Failure was unacceptable, and Harley knew this rule - if it could be called a rule, for indeed, The Joker had none - would extend to even her, she who had - ahh - certain… privileges…

He raised her hand to his mouth, and she baulked, uncertain, but he merely kissed it, repeatedly, removing the specks of blood. She regarded him nervously. Was this a good sign? He grinned again, his scars becoming painfully visible.

"Don't want you getting messy, now, do we?" He said, almost tenderly - almost - but not quite, and he pulled her towards him again, now kissing the small of her neck, following the thin trail of blood his knife had created moments before. Even as Harley relaxed, the men standing guard tensed, fingers tightening a little around their guns. The Joker barely seemed to remember them, as he purred into her ear.

"How does it feel, spreading a little chaos?"

She didn't know, honestly, but she knew what he wanted to hear. "Fantastic."

"Li-ar." He sounded amused. "But I forgive you." His hands on her waist were vice-like. "But only because-" He enunciated the last word immaculately in her ear, making her shiver. "- only because you're beautiful."

Harley grinned then, allowing herself to wind her arms around his neck.

"Oh yeah?" She said softly. Tonight was going to be a good night. She ran a finger lazily through his hair.

"I don't have many weaknesses, if you'll excuse my modesty," He smirked, "But I do have a slight penchant for - hmm - perhaps five different things…"

"I'm guessing one of them is knives." Harley breathed, as he pulled her even closer, if that was possible.

"Knives," He said, licking his lips, "And explosives, gunpowder, chaos… and you."

"I've only one weakness." Harley said, closing her eyes.

"I know." The Joker grinned grotesquely, his face so close as to smudge his paint on her cheeks. "Lucky me." He opened his grubby jacket and enveloped Harley in it, pressing her to him. He turned to the henchmen, who were uncertainly hovering somewhere near the doorway. "Leave us." He demanded coldly. "Now."

They left hurriedly, leaving them alone as instructed. The Joker was grinning down at Harley, clearly revelling in his complete and absolute control. Was that why he wanted her? Was it the control? Honestly, she didn't care, and that was the worrying thing. As long as he kissed her and held her, his motivation for doing so was unimportant. Messy? She could have killed that man with a pencil sharpener and it wouldn't be as messy as the mind games they played. Why was she letting this happen to her? Was Harley Quinn who she really wanted to be? It was pointless speculation, as his hands slid carefully down her back, calculated to make her shiver. She was his puppet; a twisted marionette. Autonomy was an illusion, he played her like an instrument.

God, she was going as mad as him.