First time posting here! I write all the time but honestly we'll see how this goes. Jonathan/Harley was like.. a huge ship of mine that I could never explain to anyone else and when I found E. S. Young's work on here it was the best day ever so of COURSE I had to make an account and write for my one of my fave ships too.
I hope you like it and I'd love feedback! ((Hint hint))
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The first time she broke in, Jonathan came home from a contract to find the little blonde curled up on his couch. The Scarecrow, of course, was furious.
It's the Joker's whore! Not your problem, not at all.. douse her… Find out her fears, you've wanted to for so long and now the harlot deserves it.
He stood there for a long moment, wrestling complete control away from his darker half. He did not dwell on the fact he was protecting Harleen from whatever horrors the Scarecrow would inflict on her. He told himself he was going to find out what the entire situation was before attacking, convincing himself that it wasn't a lapse in fondness or humanity. Not for her.
"What are you doing here, Harleen," he finally called. He was controlled and calculated, if she was going to be a distraction for an attack he was prepared. The Joker would use a low blow tactic like this to get rid of him, although Jonathan wasn't sure if he'd done anything recently to earn the clown's ire.
Slowly, with messy, unstyled blonde hair, Harleen woke up and pulled her face away from the couch. A black eye, a split lip, a long cut along her collarbone, she looked at him through watery eyes. A smile suddenly stretched her face.
"Thought I'd drop by.. figured you'd miss me as much as I missed you," her voice was weak, wheezy and pained. Broken ribs? Despite her sweet words his face hardened. She hadn't missed him, she'd needed a doctor and someone to depend on for a bit, probably another blow out with the Joker.
"Why are you here?" he asked again, walking closer towards her. With jerky, slow movements, she sat up, holding her side gently. A quick onceover concluded that the broken rib was the worst injury, although the cut was still oozing small amounts of blood.
With those wide, intelligent eyes, she looked up at him. Even now, stripped of everything she once was, he knew she could be smart, could be deadly smart, if she so pleased. That part of her hadn't changed, even if everyone else just ignored it.
"Mistah J got me real good, Scary," she finally said. Her voice wasn't as exaggeratedly childish as it was when she worked with the Joker, but the nicknames alone were enough to make him gag.
"And why aren't you with Ivy?" he questioned, still looming above her, not wanting to sit down. He still had half a mind to kick her out, injuries and all.
"Red's got a job at a lab, a real job! Fake identity and everything, I didn't wanna screw it up for her, she's gonna… she's gonna get her life together this time.. I just know it," her voice trailed off at the end as she winced and adjusted.
Good! Let her hurt, she doesn't even know pain. Just a fool girl who was weak enough to lose her mind to a man who will never love her.
He shushed the Scarecrow and irritatedly massaged the bridge of his nose. It was unlikely Pamela Isley would ever 'get her life together', and he knew Harleen didn't believe in true rehabilitation for people like them. Still, she'd wanted Isley to try anyway. It was sweet, but stupid, a combination he'd started to associate with the new Harleen.
"So you expect me to patch you up because your usual rebound isn't available," he said in a cold voice, not even posing it as a question. Once more the girl's eyes filled with tears, and he made a note at the lack of greasepaint or jester's garb. Instead she wore a bloodstained red shirt and black pants, a pair of black boots on each foot.
"Look Jonny, I know you think I'm a fool and I.. I can't fix that, I don't think you'll let me. But I just need the supplies if ya got 'em, I can do the rest," her voice was watery and pained and Jonathan hated the pity that welled up inside his chest, because it wasn't instantly rebuffed by anger. The woman in front of him was a mixture of the doctor he'd known and the clown she'd become, and oddly, he recognized he wasn't the doctor she'd known either. They'd both changed, and she needed help.
With a heavy sigh Jonathan resigned himself to the fact he wouldn't be able to go straight to bed that night.
"Is your rib broken?" he asked, turning away to rummage for the heavy duty medical bag he kept on hand.
"Yeah, I think so."
"I have some pain medication, if you want," he offered. It was something he'd come up with a long time ago, something to lure the low lives into a safe place where they wouldn't be interrupted so he could perform tests. But it was effective, he'd tried it once when the bone in his arm was shattered by the Bat.
Jonathan could practically hear her thinking, weighing the pros and cons of the drug. He returned to her side with the medical bag and a cloth to clean up the blood. She looked terrible, beyond the wounds he noticed how thin she was, how tired she looked. Life had not been kind to Harleen Quinzel as of late.
"I'll give you a low dose, pain for the sake of pain is a useless endeavor, Harleen," he finally said, pulling out a syringe. She offered her arm without protest, yet oddly seemed to shy away from him, well, from the needle. "Are you afraid of needles?" he asked in an almost shocked tone, quirking an eyebrow at her.
"No! I just.. I don't like them, is all," she said, still not looking at him or the needle. He tucked that bit of information away and carefully injected the solution into her veins. Her hand went back to wrap around her side.
They'd have to start on the cut. It seemed to have stopped bleeding much, but it would probably scar, at least it didn't require stitches. Running from the top of her shoulder and stopping underneath the clavicle, it was deepest along the middle and had bled all over her shirt, however Harleen didn't seem to mind.
"I hate the cuts the most, I'd rather he break all my ribs," she said, not looking at him. "Always afraid he'll go for my mouth but -ah, you know my puddin'..." So she didn't want the awful mouth scars the Joker sported, despite her obvious devotion. It made sense, she'd always been rather vain, even in her insanity. Jonathan didn't say anything as he cleaned the wound.
He could tell the drug was kicking in as he taped the cut and bandaged it. It started with her blue eyes glassing over, then she seemed to completely relax, leaning against the couch more heavily. Jonathan cleaned her lip before going for the hem of her shirt to bandage it. Her little hand caught his.
"Nuh-uh, a gentleman always asks first," she said, her voice slow and heavy. He sighed and considered leaving her to do it herself, but the pathetic imagine of her struggling with the bandage kept him sitting in front of her.
"Harleen. I need to brace your side," he said. She seemed to think for a moment, then nodded, pulling her shirt up and off slowly. Underneath she wore a lacy black bra for which he completely disregarded, winding the bandage around her side gently.
"Ya know, everyone calls me Harley, even Pammy. But not you."
"And I won't," he replied, cutting the bandage and taping it. She didn't replace her shirt.
"But why-yy?" she whined, her split lip jutting out. He hated that pout, it left no traces of the woman he knew she could have been, the intelligent one.
"I'd like to remind you that you're still Harleen, not whatever creation he made you into," Jonathan said, his voice devoid of much emotion. If someone knew him well, however, they'd hear the bitter tone.
Her bloodshot blue eyes met his and, when he thought she'd smile, or yell, she nodded.
"Thank you, Jonny. For caring.. I… Thank you Jonny. You've always been one of the best friends I've ever had," she finished, looking away.
He sighed and didn't reply, knowing it was just the drugs amping up the sense of gratitude she had. He turned off the lights on the switch near the kitchen and left, but just before he closed the door to his room completely he heard her.
"Jonathan?" He paused. She hadn't called him that since they worked together at Arkham, since that last day where she assured him she'd be fine with the Joker as her patient.
"Would you be angry if I said I wanted to kiss you when we worked together?"
"You're high," he reminds her. An exaggerated sigh from her end and he turns to go.
"That's why I'd always wear white button ups and pencil skirts, you seemed to like those better," that comment actually surprises him. Of course he always liked the way she liked in professional garb better, but she had worn it almost exclusively around him. Something he'd assumed was just a personal preference, but that wouldn't make sense considering the outfits she'd wear otherwise. But it couldn't be true, nobody would go through all that trouble just for a hunch about his preferences, especially someone as logical as Harleen.
Jonathan didn't answer as he left her laying on his couch, and didn't see anything of her the next morning besides a steaming pot of coffee freshly brewed and a napkin that she'd scrawled a note on with a nearby sharpie. It read "thank you 3 -harleen"