A short drabble based on the scene of Harley reflecting on her relationship with the Joker. "I think back to the times we've had, even the good times. And I think of the look in his eyes. When resentment and frustration at who and what he is bubbles up, and I'm struck with a feeling...something that is close to hatred."
WARNING: Mentions of psychological abuse and domestic violence
Characters: Harley Quinn, Joker, Batman
Arkham Asylum
It seemed like forever that she was last walking down the dark street, simmering with anger as she cursed her life.
"Face it Harl, this stinks! You're a certified nutso wanted in 12 states and hopelessly in love with a psychopathic clown. At what point did my life go Looney Tunes? How did it happen? Who's to blame...? Batman, that's who! Batman! It's always been Batman! Ruining my life, spoiling my fun! Comin' between me and my puddin' since the very beginning!"
And because she was a strong woman, because she was a Class A Criminal, she took things into her own hands.
She remembers the dark silhouette of Batman hanging like tantalising bait over a tank full of carnivorous and hungry piranhas. She remembers the pained and empathetic grimace Batsy sent her way as she was thrown across the room by the Joker, lost and mad in his anger.
Harley remembers lots of things, but she will never forget the look on the Joker's face in that singular moment when he grabbed her, hands biting viciously into her flesh as he hurled and threw her out of the window.
"But Puddin' I don't understand! Don't you want to get rid of Batman?" she had pleaded, unaware she was cowering away from the giant shadow of the Joker, his eyes taking on a feral glow as he cornered her like the sidekick she was.
"Only if I do it, you idiot!" he hissed.
Before he threw her out the window.
As she crashed through the window, the sound of glass shattering faded into the background and all she could see was the Joker's face - his blood red lips pulled into an angry frown as opposed to the cheshire smile plastered on his face all the time.
It was a miracle she survived the fall. She had some trash cans and garbage bags to thank for that, and now she was staring up at the sterilised and blank white ceiling of Arkham Asylum dressed in her signature black and red get up.
Her back hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her heart and the tingling pinpricks of abuse where the Joker had gripped her before.
Her puddin' didn't love her - never would, never did.
All he cared about was Batman.
Man, that left an awful bitter taste in her mouth, just thinking about that damned Batsy who liked playing the hero and wearing those dreary black drapes while he was busy saving Gotham City. Just what was so great about him?
"Tch! You're pathetic Harl! What's a perfectly fine girl like ya doing for some psychopathic clown who only has googly eyes for Batman?" she hissed, sitting up and throwing her Jester's hat on the floor, frustration, hatred and anger coiling like a snake within her belly.
Yes, that was it. She was angry. Angry as she imagines herself entwined in the Joker's arms under a perfect moonlit night on the deserts of the rooftops of Gotham City, his long, thin spidery hands snaking along her hips - stroking.
When he smiles that crazy smile of his, she sees herself clearly reflected in his ice-blue eyes, smiling back at him in a mimicry of his own signature Joker's smile. The only exception is that his lips are red and hers are black - the perfect match.
That is why she wears red and black, two halves of the same coin melding together to form one.
But she was not a psychopath, nor was she insane like him. Her puddin'.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a click was heard and she spun round, an unhinged smile plastered on her face as a woman dressed in white came in, her eyes holding an emotionally detached and strict expression, watching her like she was an animal, a victim.
Funny, Harley thinks, she was one of them before she became Harley.
"Hi, I'm Harley! Nice to meetcha!" she greets, extending a hand out.
But the psychiatrist merely looked at her hand like it was an infected thing and ignored it, "I know who you are, there's no need for introduction."
Harley whines, pitiful, "Awwwww, I was just being nice, Professor. Won't you play along?"
The psychiatrist ignores her, looking at her but not seeing, the beginnings of a frown appearing on her lips.
Damn psychiatrist needs to smile more.
"Come on, Prof. Why so serious?" she purred as she sprawled lazily back upon the cold metal bed, resting her head upon her hand.
"I gotta be serious, Harley. It's just part of my job, and I'm here to pass you something," said the psychiatrist, still standing close to the door, holding a vase with a single stalk of red rose in it.
Red and full in bloom, bleeding blood and passion upon its petals.
"I'll leave it here," continued the psychiatrist in that robotic, monotonous voice - like it was soaked in copious amounts of detergent and antiseptic.
She feels sorry for these psychiatrists, really. And if she was kind enough, sorry for Batman too. All of these people, trapped and imprisoned in their own cells, drawing the boundaries of what was "normal" and "good" and "right".
She was one of them too, but...
Didn't they know? Didn't they know the liberation of tearing those shackles apart, knocking down those walls and jumping free to the other side?
Like how she jumped into that chemical vat, bright, luminous green liquid bubbling and boiling like a witches' cauldron - giving herself up to the insanity of love and a new light she had never known before. Because her puddin' wanted her to.
"You're allowed to do whatever you like, Harley - the only sensible way to live is without rules," whispers the memory of the Joker's slithering voice and cold breath in the shell of her ear as she climbs out of the vat, dripping in all those chemicals.
She had made a decision then, that she'd no longer be Harleen Quinzel, but Harley, and that she was going to live within her rules. Nobody else's.
A short "thump" was heard as the psychiatrist placed the vase upon the white table beside the door, and another card beside it.
"Don't go crazy over it," was all she said before she turned and left, locking the door behind her.
"Huh, she must be fun at parties," huffed Harley as she bounced off the bed and walked towards the table, picking up the card.
Her heart stopped for a moment as she recognised the Joker's handwriting, curling and unfurling like black serpents slinking gracefully across the paper.
"Have a speedy recovery and get well soon, baby."
She couldn't believe it. Her puddin' just called her "baby."
He called her "baby" and wished her well.
And she is back on the rooftops of Gotham City again, wrapped in his arms as she gazes back up at him, the feel of his lips upon hers as he kisses her and all she can see are stars.
"I love you, baby," he had said.
Her puddin' was crazy. He was a psychopathic clown, insane.
She didn't hurt those she loved. Only he did. Wasn't that why he keeps torturing Batman? Wasn't that why he snarls at her, hits her, calls her names?
He loves her, she thinks, he just has an insane way of showing it.
If he didn't love her, why would he send her roses and cards to wish her well, kiss her and make love to her within those sheets?
"Aw Puddin'," she breathes as her grip tightens on the card, crinkling it at the edges, "I knew you still cared..."
She picks up the rose, red like his lips when he kisses her, and decides it was perfect.
Smirking, she pulls out the rose and hides the vase behind her back and calls out over the door, "Helllooooooo...? Is anybody there? I want a psychiatrist please! I'm hurtin' so baaaaad!"
Footsteps shuffling, some voices sound, and soon enough, the psychiatrist from before was walking towards her cell, a bodyguard following close behind.
Just as planned.
"Hold on a while more, Puddin'. Harley's gonna come back to ya after she beats some senses into these shrinks," she purrs happily, caressing the vase behind her.
The door clicks open.
She grins, the Joker's smile on her face as she lifts her hand up, ready to crack skulls.
End Notes:
This is my first ever DC Comics fic, and I decided after watching Suicide Squad weeks ago that I just HAD to do something on Harley. She's not only representative of the position of women in society, but she also is an "insane" villain who employs great self-awareness and agency in becoming bad. Which makes her that much more deep and intriguing a character.
Even though Suicide Squad was a good movie, I felt that they didn't delve enough into the backstory of Harley or what her relationship with the Joker is really like. Cos well, they had SO MANY DELETED SCENES. Grrrrr...! Jared Leto may not be Heath Ledger, but he gave us another equally great version of the Joker.
All in all, hope that I did justice to Harley and would definitely want to continue writing more on her and her dynamics with the Joker and Batman. Based on what I've read, the Joker 'loves' Harley and Batman, but in a very twisted way, and in this short drabble, Harley knows that the Joker is more obsessed with Batman than he is with her. DC is so incredibly dark and thought provoking I love it! ^^
Please rate and review! :D
DISCLAIMER: Quotes and scenes are taken from the comics and the cartoon series for Batman. E.g The Joker throwing her out the window and the Joker and Harley embracing each other under the moonlight.