Creeped Out

Harley Quinn awoke with a groan as she opened her eyes. Her vision blearily returned to her as she blinked, a massive, aching pain throbbing through her skull. She didn't remember what the hell had happened last night, but whatever it was, she would have to ask Mr. J not to do it again.

"Rise and shine, sweetcheeks!"

A sudden shock shot through Harley's mind. That wasn't something Mr. J would say. And that wasn't Mr. J's voice. And she suddenly realized that she was tied to a chair, which Mr. J would always have untied her from before they went to sleep. So she wasn't with Mr. J. But who else would have…

She saw him, and groaned. "Oh, not you again!" she muttered. "Listen, buddy, when a girl says no, she means no! Just get that through your thick skull!"

"Maybe, baby, but I'm a determined guy who don't give up easily."

"You're an obnoxious creep," growled Harley.

"An obnoxious Creeper," he corrected, grinning. It was indeed the Creeper standing in front of her, looking as goofy as ever. Harley didn't understand the look – was he meant to be Tarzan or something? Or was that really the best costume he could come up with? Say what you liked about her and Mr. J, at least they both had style.

"I asked around on how best to go about winning over Harley Quinn, and the guys said you liked being tied up," continued the Creeper, crouched and circling around her. "So I thought I'd give it a shot."

"Mr. J is gonna kill you for kidnapping me," hissed Harley. "That is, if I don't have that pleasure first."

"Oooh, I like a girl who makes threats!" giggled Creeper. "What else do you wanna do to me, sweets?"

"Y'know, if Mr. J did this, I would think it was really romantic of him," said Harley. "As it is, it's just creepy. Like you. You're like a more annoying, less funny, less handsome, more pathetic version of Mr. J. And it's a version I don't like, and won't ever like. So why don't you untie me now before I forget to be nice?"

"Here's the thing, sweetie pie," he said, leaping up on the table next to her and smiling. "I like you. A lot. Like more than friends. I like you the way cats like yarn, like dogs like their tails, like bulls like a red sheet. In other words, you drive me crazy. And I wanna stick you with my horn."

"Is that meant to be romantic?" demanded Harley. "Cause it ain't. Jesus, you don't know the first thing about wooing a gal, and you especially don't know the first thing about me!"

"Well, I'm all ears, baby," he breathed, leaning forward. "Ready and willing to listen, as long as I can have a little kiss first."

"You can have a kick in the nuts!" retorted Harley, kicking upward so that he fell backward with a gasp. "I ain't the kinda gal who kisses other guys when I'm with someone already! So get that through your thick head, Creepo! You and me just ain't gonna happen! You may wanna be Mr. J – you may try stealing his act and having his hair and stuff, but you ain't Mr. J! And I'm Mr. J's property, which nobody else touches but him!"

"Oh, I see, playing hard to get, huh?" asked Creeper, grinning. "Well, that's no problem, toots, I like it rough! And I can wait, if I have to! Sure I'm a maniac, but even a maniac doesn't let the perfect girl slip through his fingers! And I'm sure you'll change your mind, once you get to know me! You like crazy guys, right? Well, I am as crazy as a barrel of monkeys!"

And he began leaping around the room, chattering. Harley stared at him, thinking maybe the costume did make sense now. The man clearly had no idea how to make himself attractive, whether to women or in general. What a loser.

"Listen, Creepo, this has been fun, but the joke's over now, ok?" she said, looking around for a clock. "I gotta get home. Mr. J will miss me."

"Jokes? You want jokes?" he asked, leaping up onto the table in front of her again. "Of course you do, you like the Joker! Well, I can be a funny guy too!"

"No, that's ok, please don't try…" began Harley.

"What do you call cheese that isn't yours? Any guesses? Huh? Give up? Nacho cheese!" He laughed hysterically, while Harley stared back at him, blankly.

"Mr. J tries to avoid puns," she said. "They ain't funny, see. Not unless someone dies just before or after you say them. Then they're hilarious. But puns about cheese – I mean, you can see that's painfully unfunny, right? Geez, and Mr. J says I'm not funny," she muttered.

"Ok, ok, ok, let me try another one," he said. "How many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb? Huh? Huh? Whaddya think? Just one, but it takes nine visits!"

He laughed again. Harley's eyes narrowed. "I used to be a psychologist," she growled. "And I don't find jokes demeaning the hard-working men and women engaging in a profession that tries to help people amusing!"

"Aw, c'mon, baby, lighten up!" he said. "Tell me how I can make my little clown girl laugh! Would she like me to drop my pants?"

"I probably really would laugh then," retorted Harley. "But not for the reasons you want. What would really make me laugh is to let me go. 'Cause I don't find this very funny, and neither will Mr. J. And you don't wanna piss him off, trust me."

"I'm not afraid of your boyfriend, sweetheart," he replied, grinning. "I roughed him up good last time we met, as I recall."

"Nobody roughs up Mr. J except Batman," retorted Harley. "You may be terribly dressed and horribly unfunny, but you ain't Bats."

"I'm bats about you!" he chuckled.

"What did I just say about puns?" snapped Harley. "I don't see nobody dead, Creepo, except you, in a second, if you don't let me go right now!"

"Oh, I like a fiery girl!" he exclaimed, embracing her.

Harley headbutted him. "And what did I say about touching me?!" she shrieked. "Mr. J is the only one who listens to me, I tell ya! It's unbelievable! Am I speaking a different language here?!"

"You're speaking the language of love to me, toots," he murmured, grinning. "And I'm a fluent speaker myself."

"Seriously, Creep, this ain't funny," growled Harley. "And I'm a dangerous girl when I ain't amused. This is my last warning. Let me go, or you won't even be able to creep by the time I'm through with you."

"Keep those threats coming, baby," he replied, smiling. "See, I'm the kinda guy who believes in love. I believe that true love conquers all. True love, or being tied up and held prisoner until you change your mind. It's gotta work, right? I mean, it's crazy, and so are you, and so am I! We were made for each other, sweetie!"

"I was there when you were made, and I don't remember Mr. J saying 'This is for you, Harl,' when he threw you into that acid," she retorted. "You're just a deluded jerk, not anything like the homicidal, psychotic madman I'm in love with. So don't kid yourself. You can keep me tied up as long as you want, but I won't ever change my mind."

"Challenge accepted!" he cried, laughing as he leaped off the table. He scuttled to the door. "Be sure to call me if you need anything! Fiery little kitten like you probably has a lot of needs to satisfy, and Creeper's the guy to satisfy them, believe me, sugarcakes! Just call out Honey Lover when you need me! Toodles!"

He left, slamming the door behind him. Harley sighed, and leaned back, shutting her eyes. She had confidence that Mr. J would be along to rescue her soon. She didn't know how long she'd been gone, but he must be missing her terribly…

Then she suddenly remembered. He was in the middle of planning one of his schemes. He didn't notice anything when he was doing that – usually didn't eat or sleep for days, let alone have any awareness of the world around him. She could be here weeks.

She sighed again, and started working at her ropes. "Have to do everything myself," she muttered. "Why me, I ask ya? Life's just so unfair. What have I ever done to deserve a crazy, clingy nutjob stalking me? It's karma for something, I guess, but I'll be damned if I know what…"