Disclaimer: I own nothing. Simple as that. (I mean, the Joker would be fun to own, but alas, I do not.)
Warning: Character death(s), mention of drugs(no use), and suicide. One swear word.
Harley Quinn was dying. As she was flung off of the skyscraper, she knew there was nothing she could do. A resignation of sorts. She was giving up. Harley closed her eyes. Her and Mistah J had been arguing with Scarecrow over some drugs when she was pushed over the edge of the tallest building ever. At least it seemed that way to Harley. Harley called his name, her Mistah J's name, eyes wide. A moment later, she regained her composure. He wouldn't want her to be clingy during her own death.
Harley's mind was flooded with images, all rotating around her area of vision. White flashes appeared, making Harley squint. Pictures of her former self, her sane self. She saw her mother, giving her a disappointed look. How could you give up, Harley? She saw Mistah J. His face, laughing at her. Mocking her for being so weak as to fall off of the building. So, she thought, this is what they mean. A life flashing before your eyes.
She thought about Mistah J most of all. She wished she had been able to teach him how to be more caring. In those rare sane moments, where crazy thoughts were still tugging at her mind, Harley observed the Joker with a clinical eye. Like her patient that she never cured. Sometimes she liked to think she had, though. She knew him like a book, predicting his movements better than anyone. She mourned, not over her death, but over her failure to save her puddin'.
Harley giggled loudly as she continued to fall. She hit a steel bar that was sticking out of the building and felt her body snap. Felt her spine break into a million shards. Suddenly, she hit the ground. Harley Quinn, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, would breathe no more.
The Joker saw Harley fall, but he didn't comprehend. He didn't understand that she would die. He thought she would bounce back like she always had, regaining her footing and continuing with the battle. No. Not this time. He watched, eyes darting between her petite body and the ground. Why? Why isn't she shooting a grappling hook and saving herself? Where's the trick? Why isn't she doing anything?
The Joker saw her for a split second, eyes wide as she cried his name, and he saw red. He let out a roar and spun around. The trigger bent underneath the pressure of his finger. The Scarecrow was on the concrete roof in a second, twitching as he died. Silence overwhelmed him. The Joker heard a sickening crack and dared a peek over the edge of the building. Harley was in an awkward position and he could make out no more details. When she hit the pavement, blood splattered, and he couldn't see anything except red. Red blood. Red anger in his eyes. Red hatred.
Regret. That was all the man could feel. Regret that he had never done anything for the young woman. Regret that he couldn't save her. Instantly, his mind was assaulted with what ifs. What if she hadn't died? What if she hadn't been standing there at that exact moment? What if he had known? Would he have saved her? Hell yes.
He sat back on his heels and pursed his lips, trying to decide the next course of action. He would have to clean up her body, obviously. He didn't want the Batman or a city official to defile his harlequin. The Joker, no matter how tough anyone thought he was, refused to go near her broken body. He preferred to remember Harley with rosy cheeks and blonde hair. When he shut his eyes, he couldn't see her. He couldn't remember her blonde hair. How long had it been since he had actually seen Harley? Days? Weeks? Not a month. Right?
The Joker shook. It was not from anger, but from fear. What if she was alive? Feeling pain course through her body as she writhed in agony on the pavement. He couldn't take it. This feeling, this thought of her like that. He didn't know what to do without her. He didn't want to know what to do without her.
He didn't love the blonde woman. No, the Joker could not feel love. When he felt Harley for the first time, he knew they would be alright. They could run and be away from everyone forever. Now...he would never feel Harley again. The Joker, not in his right mind (even more so), laughed. First, it was a giggle. Then it became maniacal; laughter that filled his every thought. This is it. Going out with a bang. The Joker laughed still, pulling the hammer of his pistol back. He threw his head back, cackling louder than ever before. The trigger pulled. He heard a bang, then nothing. Out with a bang.
Author's note: I'm not sure if I should be, but I'm very proud of this one-shot. I just am. Harley is so difficult to write. Almost as difficult as the Joker.
Reviews make me smile as widely as the Joker :)