Title: Catharsis

Genre: Romance, psychological, noir

Status: One shot.

Rating: M for mature situations.

Era: DCU

Disclaimer: I do not own, please do not sue. The characters belong to DC Comics and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Annoying plot bunny that would not leave me alone. R/R! Enjoy the show!

He told her to shove off again. She was cute in an annoying Chihuahua pup sort of way but she had the maintenance of a house broken puppy. It was time to snip the umbilical cord. For the thousandth time, Harley Quinn had foiled his plans. She had poured hot coffee over his expensive trousers which created a hot and cold sensation between his thighs, not to mention a very sensitive part of the Joker's body that he might have trouble using for the next few days.

"Ooopsie," she said in a very nervous tone. She wanted to control the waves of anger that she could feel emanate from the clown.

"Oopsie is not going to stop me from doing what I am about to do, sugar." The jester said in a bitter voice. His lanky frame rose from his seating position. A stain in front of his crotch was not the least bit funny. If it happened to someone else, it was a treat. The Joker had a different set of rules for this sort of thing and right now, he was in no mood for laughing.

It was one thing to burn a fish plate she had heard about on some cooking show on cable. It was quite another thing to burn off his manhood, literally. She was never going to be the next Martha Stewart, but he had to admit, he thought it was adorable seeing her try, just like a kitten trying to get the feather toy or a dog trying to catch his tail. He could not help but be tickled pink seeing her try to attain something she would never achieve. He exploited that by withholding affection to her. You give something away too much and it loses its value. He had her by the toes and that is the way her preferred it. She was at his mercy, she was his real life puppet.

Still, that is one attribute that he admired in his faithful Hench girl. She expressed passion and zeal. His goons saw it as a job which was all the more reason for him to dispose of them like used tissues. Harley Quinn was his crown jewel because of that extra thing. Harley did it with bells on and she did it for free. The rest of them were dead weight. They expressed as much gusto as Spock of the Starship Enterprise at a Voodoo ceremony. She was the spice to an otherwise boring dish.

She was not just a helper who displayed almost religious loyalty to her Prince, she was his playmate, his squire. She was almost like a daughter to him.

She was a wild card but not in the way that he would have preferred. She showed potential, like a willing young recruit that was willing to do any dirty job at the sleazy strip club for money but her Achille's heel was, ironically enough, her carefree attitude. Harley Quinn, derived from the term harlequin from the Italian motif arlechino. She took an archetype, a representation and a proud symbol of his being and bastardized it. To call Harley Quinn a clown, much less compare her to Him would be like a tawdry comedian from one of those late night comedy central specials to Lenny Bruce or Buddy Hackett. It was an insult to the moniker. Her forte was never really a clever one. Her name itself was a by-product. There was no originality, much like pop stars today. They were always stealing from the classics and trying to twist it into something they called their own when it really was just plagiarism. She used the clown's fame to bolster herself.

"Do you know what a copycat is, Harley?" Joker queried as he got closer to the shivering girl in the corner. Her cortisol levels were tantamount to his adrenaline rush. It was pleasure seeing her at the level where she belonged.

"You are a serf trying to be a princess, reality TV trash trying to be the next Liz Taylor. You are a Gucci knockoff!" Joker hissed.

"Puddin', no!" Harley Quinn shrieked.

It was an insult to a narcissist like him. She was like a grown child still living with their parents and asking for clothing and shelter after they have been shown the tricks of the trade. Naughty girls have to be punished, he thought. He got rid of her the only effective way he could, by tossing her out of a ten story window of their loft on Seventh and Hobart. Harley found it when she was looking for stray cats to feed on. It was some private practice that fell apart during the quake several years ago and now, the clown claimed it; a vulture to carrion.

"You have been a very bad girl, Miss Harley Quinn, a very bad girl….." Joker said in a low pitch which was reminiscent of a lion growling.

He was relieved that he had finally rid himself of the little whore. He also cleansed his nose and throat of excess phlegm. He sat back down and grabbed a bottle with accompanying cup and began to mix himself a drink. He was hardly a social drinker. He also smoked too but it was never to a level where he would get emphysema or have problems with his liver. His immune system was mutable. It was a gift, he thought.

"Oh, Rupert. Where are you? Oh that's right, I put a pencil in your forehead." Joker giggled as her surveyed the cocktail menu.

"What the hell…." He thought. "You always made the best White Russians, Rupert."

Joker finally settled on his choice for the evening, a Red Death. He took some Southern Comfort and ameretto before he began to mix the alcohol. He proceeded to add a few more key ingredients before he sat back on the chair, finally able to relax his body and mind. He added a small umbrella and began to add a couple more twists.

Joker snorted as he sat back on the swivel chair and gave it a couple of twirls before he stopped. It was the kind that you would find in a psychiatrist's office. That is why the jester from Hell chose it. It proved the irony of this rate race called life. He took a sip from his drink and closed his eyes as he savored the light fruity mixture while reflecting on his life philosophy.

All humans were slaves to a binary that they denied for some imaginary social construct. Even the Batman was a victim of this mindset which made the clown shake his head. Poor delusional fool. He would rather live in this fantasy than embrace the ugly truth for what it was. The Batman was a Rubik's cube and Chinese box all rolled into one. For years they had shared a fateful dance and overtime, other layers were added which made their encounters rich and at the same time, feel so very crowded.

"Nostalgia is such a bitch, sometimes." Joker smiled. "She comforts me and at the same time, she can be a cruel mistress." He took another sip of his drink. "Should have added some more lime juice", he said to himself. It was nothing fancy but it helped curb the clown's nerves which he overworked thanks to his overworked brain. The sensation of the cocktail was fruity, not strong which was perfect for the occasion. It calmed his overstressed mindset. Things began to clear. Thoughts that plagued his mind such as a clumsy goon or Harley overcooking food seemed smaller and insignificant now. They were irrelevant and completely flushed from his thoughts. He felt cleansed, free from grime, pure even. He was free from the stress of faulty workers. They were like children, children that needed the strictest form of discipline. That was all in the past, however. His focus was on the present. His mind focused on things that gave him happy; drawing funny faces and adding moustaches on people he did not like, dying kittens and Asperger's syndrome. Anything rotten and rancid lifted his dour spirits because no matter how hard things tried to thrive, ultimately, they did die. There was no escape from this rollercoaster ride called life. He just gave people a Fast Pass, like they do at Disneyland sometimes.

There was another component that made him happy and it had nothing to do with death. This IT was actually a living thing, from what he could tell. He was like a favorite toy. No matter how hard he tried to destroy this man, he could never break. Kittens had their yarn, teenagers had inhalants, Joker had the Dark Knight as his favorite past time.

Joker giggled as he recollected his moments shared with his enemy. He was this enigma that garnered all his attention and energy. Their complex games and encounters, colliding philosophies, mutual physical scars and mutable dance fascinated the clown.

"Where did the time go, Bats? All these years. If we were a musical folk group, we could have so many Greatest Hits collaborations, 'I shot the Batgirl, but I didn't shoot the Dark Knight', 'Die Robin Die, tweet tweet!" Joker guffawed.

On one hand, these extra…..ingredients in a soup added some extra toys he could play with and yet, it was also a curse.

Nowadays, things felt so….stifling.

"Sidekicks," Joker said to himself. "Annoying little brutes," he thought to himself. Joker tapped the drink using the straw. The tapping noise was like a metronome for a pianist. It helped form a more stable train of thought as his mind flashed with various ideas, images, and dirty words. "They are like children, I suppose. But tell me, what use does Batman have with all those rugrats?" Joker said to himself as he sipped again. The image of the dark detective changing diapers and potty training those kids made the clown giggle. The acidic taste in his parched throat engorged his thought processes. He began to recall a more simple time when it was just him and the Bat. Yes, there was less 'complication', less grandiosity but it was far more intimate. The exchanges were personal and the memories unforgettable. The gimmicks were simple but came from his little black heart.

"It was just like the days when music relied on analog and not autotune and digital before an extra set of characters was added to the cast." Joker observed. "….and then came the kids".

Joker recalled the time he first saw a twelve year old boy. He was far more colorful than his tall dark and handsome mentor. A complete contrast to the Dark Knight, he thought.

"He bastardized what he stood for. How do those drab colors help? It's like putting a bull's eye sign in the middle of your chest! How stupid can you get?"

The boy was peanuts compared to his 'Father'. He had his talent, he had his skills but he was no match to the Dark Knight. It was like asking for a coke and you got the 'light' version. It just was not the same. It was stripped of its essence and replaced with some cheap sugar substitute to make up for the taste. This would go on for a few more years and a couple more kids.

"I turned his brains into beef tripe. You are not really trying anymore, are you?" Joker said in a low voice as he twirled the skinny black straw in his glove.

Even Two Face and Penguin got involved which added insult to the clown's ego because it reduced him to a garden variety villain. No longer was he within the center periphery of his enemy. He had to take a number and that was an insult to the harlequin from Hell because he commanded full attention like a showgirl. Additionally, they were all repetitive gimmicks. That was different from what he had. What he possessed was an art. It was iconic and his own. What Harvey, Tubby and the Queen of Weeds had were mere devices, a cheap trick. Simple props they used to express themselves. They were never really capable of utilizing their talents, unlike him. What the Joker had was sophistication and took it beyond a familiar backdrop. Where they were predictable in their contrivances, be it an even number, the feathered or floral kind, he was more refined in his touch. Like Rembrandt and his shadows, Joker had a touch or a style that none of them could mimic. The rest of them were nothing more than simple cosplayers with cheap tricks and devices that had as much soul as a moth.

"Wannabes," the clown sneered.

Still, not everything was bad in this box of chocolates. There were some surprises that he had to admit, he found pleasant.

He will never forget the first time he saw her. At first, he thought it was another one of his brats stealing a gimmick. That was until he noticed the smaller more delicate stature, womanly curves front and back as well as that gorgeous set of red hair. It reminded him of that painting of Lilith by John Collier. The sight of those feathery tresses was pleasant to his eyes. They reminded him of the rich color of blood. Perhaps that is why she stood out to him. Unlike junior, she had that subtle touch and yet, she stood out to him, like Venus in a clam. She was like the Bat, only younger and sexier. Joker being male could not help but take note.

She was definitely the Bat's protégé but she had something that her brutish male counterparts lacked and that was the finesse of a woman's touch. She could have been no more than twenty to be sure. Anything younger and he would have felt like a pedophile indeed.

"That certainly explains why you preferred the boys younger, eh Bats?" Joker sipped again, chuckled and sighed as he reminisced about his encounters with this exotic new stranger. Her cowl was modeled after His, but she projected a beauty and innocence that was ripe for the picking underneath that mask. The way her body moved and contorted, it was divine, like an artist at work. The youthful exertion of her thrusts and grunts when she hit him aroused his inner animal in a way Batman could never do. She was like a siren, almost. He remembered setting up elaborate set ups and plans just to see her, be within her reach….. to have her touch him, to feel that contact from a lovely creature.

Still, Batgirl could not compare to that other femme fatale. While Batgirl projected a more confident and outgoing personality that got his attention, he preferred women of an unattainable and mysterious nature. There was another sublime creature that aroused his intellect as well as his loins. Oh sure, Harley provided the….relief whenever she could but for a food connoisseur, it was like eating the same sandwich every day.

"Chef Boyardee could live off the same crap he made day by day, but I am a man of wealth and taste." Joker sneered.

When the clown was not distracting himself with his latest idea, he admired things of beauty be they art, Italian suits, and yes, women, especially if they were elusive. It reminded him of the Batman except without the brutish treatment and husky voice. Catwoman was such a being. She was so delicate and so refined and yet so bold. He will never forget the aching feeling he got in his pants when he first saw her in her black leather cat suit. Every curve and outline was carefully crafted and pleasing to the male eye. "Oh you devilish creature, aren't we? You leave nothing to the imagination, darling. Such finesse and fine splendor like a panther." The green haired man chuckled. It was no wonder that even she was able to hinder Batman's focus at times. She was like a pearl, a thing of rare beauty in this drab and desolate city. He preferred her with the long hair although short was okay too, in a sexy soccer mom sort of way.

"Ah, such elegance and grace. It only makes you that much more…tantalizing." Not even Harley could compare to her. Catwoman was everything Harley wasn't. Harley was clumsy, brash and loud mouthed. HA! What can she offer? Her gifts included playing the trumpet out of a part of her body that was not her mouth. Meanwhile, Catwoman was subtle, quiet and most importantly, classy. She was the kind of woman you could probably have a glass of wine with while listening to Coltrane, something that the clown often fantasized about doing with female company. She shared a polished taste with him. Harley's ideal choice of a drink was purple soda or Kool-Aid.

"You were always a shadowy one, Miss Selina. Don't you realize it only makes them want you…more?" The clown said in a cryptic tone. "What secrets do you harbor? What are your fears, dreams? What do you find funny? What do you look like naked?" The clown chortled to himself.

The jester recalled one time when he was looking out of a window when he was hiding out from his enemy when he noted the feline fatale sauntering across a ledge. It was like she was floating in air. Whereas Batman stomped as he walked, Catwoman paced in an alluring manner. The way her back arced and bended as she moved, he could not help but take a peek. The way her muscles and taut body coiled beneath her black skin tight suit aroused basic male instincts within the clown.

"Oh, that naughty pussycat. I would love to use that whip on you for making me think these dirty little thoughts….you little whore…." Joker purred. He had heard rumors that she was once a streetwalker. It didn't matter to him now that she was experienced. He wanted to touch her, feel her pulse underneath his hands before he would crush it like velvet. "You naughty cat!" Joker leaned back and placed his feet on top of the desk, changing positions so that he would feel comfortable in his chair. He reached down between his legs and continued fantasizing about the Feline.

"For the right price, I bet you would finish this job…." Joker moaned as he continued touching himself and began to pull until he found perfect rhythm. He thought about her collar on top of her supple neck. He then thought about pulling it down slowly imagining the diamonds amongst other goodies she must have hidden underneath that suit. Joker grabbed himself and concentrated his thoughts on the beautiful specimen on his mind. He focused his thoughts on what she might smell like. It was long ago but he remembered a distinct perfume on her neck. He could still feel the mounds underneath her chest and the soft of her back. Just once, he would have loved to have cornered the Cat. He pictured her soft skin underneath her feminine mounds and running his gloved hand down, feeling the velvety hairs on her folds and waiting for her to let out that long sought after purr emerge from her throat.

By this time, Joker was writhing slowly in his chair and his breathing was labored. His muscles arched and contracted and his concentration woozy from his thoughts. The drink did little to hinder his concerntration. In fact, it only made him more determined, more focused.

"Just once, I would love to make you purr….." Joker moaned softly. He fantasized about pressing his groin against the soft of her buttock. She was the epitome of poise and seduction. He wanted to take that element of control away from her for it was he who always pulled at people's heart strings. Now, in private, she was doing that to him and he wanted to take that back.

Finally, there was sweet release.

"I will make you mine. If I can Batman get down on his knees then prepare to fill your dance card, Selina." Joker chuckled and sipped more of his cocktail.

I wrote this as a creative challenge. My reason for writing this is largely due to me noticing how Joker is always calling Batman pet names. It got me thinking, why doesn't he do that with either Batgirl or Catwoman? I think adding an element of Joker being a little more flirty with Catwoman would add to his 'creepiness' factor. Whether he means to or not does not matter. Again, I wrote this for fun.

EDITED: May 22, 2010. 8:03PM Pacific Time.