The Day the Clown Cried
"Is there any reason Mr. Nygma can't deliver this to the Joker personally once he's released from the hospital?" sighed Jonathan Crane, tapping the sealed envelope against the door to the Joker's hideout while Jervis Tetch leaned on the doorbell.
"It's my understanding that they are not on speaking terms since the Joker told Hush where Mr. Nygma was hiding out, which instigated his most recent trip to the emergency room," replied Tetch, trying to peer through the window to see if Joker was even home. The lights were out inside, which made the surmise unlikely, but he didn't want to come all this way again. When Crane and Tetch had visited the Riddler in the hospital, he had given them that sealed envelope and asked them to personally deliver it into the Joker's hands without delay. "Anyway, I imagine Mr. Nygma will be taken back to Arkham once he's fighting fit, whenever that may be."
"Yes, he looked ghastly, didn't he?" said Crane. "I must have a word with Mr. Elliot."
"Has he ever respected you?" asked Tetch. "Or did he just use you to write him a clean bill of health and get him out of psychiatric care when he was a boy?"
Crane was silent. "Well, one can still respect someone for being useful," he sniffed. "Anyway, someone has to talk to him. There's no excuse for his behavior toward Mr. Nygma. Brutal aggression is all very well when directed at the population at large, but there's just something wrong about directing it toward one's fellow lunatics. If we worked together more, perhaps we'd even have a chance in defeating Batman one day."
"You mean assuming we can all put aside our petty rivalries for the greater good?" asked Tetch. "Not a chance. I've heard a lot of nonsense in my time, but the idea that we could all stand together and united against Batman is the most ludicrous one yet."
He sighed. "Apparently he's not in. We'll just have to come back later…"
The door flew open at that moment, and Harley Quinn stood in the doorway, flushed and breathing heavily. She was wearing nothing but a short, white, babydoll lingerie set which left very little to the imagination. Her blonde hair was done up in pigtails and she dangled a teddy bear on the ground from one hand, a lollipop stuck between her lips, which she popped out, smiling at them.
"Hi, Johnny, Jervis, what brings you here?" she asked. "Sorry it took so long to answer the door – Mr. J and I were just in the middle of…something."
"Yes, I…I can see that," stammered Tetch. Crane just stared at her, open-mouthed. "Um…we actually have something important we need to deliver to the Joker personally…"
"Oh, sure," said Harley, holding open the door. "Why doncha boys come on inside?" she asked innocently, slowly licking up the lollipop.
"Oh…my…God…I have to go," gasped Crane suddenly, forcing his eyes off Harley, shoving the envelope at Tetch, and hurrying away.
"Huh. Wonder what his problem is," said Harley, shrugging and continuing to suck on the lollipop as Tetch followed her into the hideout. "Mr. J! We got company! Jervis is here!"
"Tell him to get lost, pooh, Daddy ain't in the mood for any company aside from his Harley baby!" shouted Joker from the bedroom. "And she needs to get her naughty little backside back in here right now so Daddy can give her a nice, hard spanking."
"Oh, Mr. J!" she purred. "He said it's important, though, puddin', and he needs to give it to you personally…"
"The only thing Daddy needs is for you to personally give him your little lips around his lollipop, and I ain't talking about the one you're sucking on right now!"
"Oh, Daddy, you know your baby girl loves it when you talk like that!" cooed Harley.
"Then my baby girl needs to come show Daddy how much she loves him by coming back to bed and bringing her vibrating teddy bear with her," growled Joker.
Harley squeaked happily. "Do you mind waiting while we finish up, Jervis?" she asked, turning to him with sparkling eyes.
"Yes," he replied, firmly. "Just go fetch him."
Harley whined in disappointment but obeyed, dragging the Joker out of the bedroom a second later, wearing a purple bathrobe. "Yeah, thanks, beat it," he said, grabbing the envelope from him and shoving him toward the door.
"It's from Nygma…" began Tetch, but Joker slammed the door in his face. "And don't you ever, ever call me a pedophile again!" shouted Tetch at the closed door, muttering in annoyance to himself as he strode off.
"Ain't you gonna see what's in the envelope, puddin'?" sighed Harley a few hours later as she lay happily cuddled in the Joker's arms while he smoked a cigar.
"If it's from Nygma, it's probably some kinda death threat in the form of a riddle," chuckled Joker. "Not sure I even feel like making the effort of reading his pathetic attempts at being scary."
"I can read it to ya, puddin'," volunteered Harley, sitting up and opening the envelope. She unfolded the piece of paper inside and read aloud. "Wayne Tower is high and mighty and tall. But on top of the roof, the writing's on the wall. It's time for the Bat to have a great fall."
Joker snorted, inhaling from his cigar. "Bunch of gibberish, as usual," he sighed. "I never liked riddles. Too much work to figure 'em out. My jokes are elegant in their simplicity. You see them, you get them, you laugh – end of joke. But this could mean anything!"
"I think it means he's written something important on the roof of Wayne Tower," said Harley, re-reading the message. "Something to do with Bats, I guess. Although considering how mad he is at you at the moment, I think it's probably a trap."
"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Joker, leaping out of bed and pulling on his suit. "I love traps!"
"I meant a trap for you, puddin'," said Harley, smiling.
"I know. Really thoughtful of Eddie to go through all the effort of making a whole trap just for little old me!" he chuckled. "Anyway, the fun's in the trap itself, whether you're setting it up or figuring out how to get outta it. Exercises both the mind and the body either way."
"Well, hurry home so your Harley girl can give your body another good workout," said Harley, tying his bowtie for him and then giving it a playful tweak.
"Might wanna be wearing the naughty schoolgirl outfit later, kiddo," he growled, kissing her. "I don't think Daddy's little Harley has learned her lesson about being a bad girl yet."
"Nah uh, puddin'," she agreed, beaming. "I'll find the paddle."
Harley spent the rest of the day cleaning the hideout, whistling happily as she thought about later that night. Evening came and Harley dressed in the requested costume, then climbed onto the bed, holding the paddle suggestively between her legs. It grew later and later, but Mr. J didn't come back. Harley began to worry – if it had been a trap, maybe Mr. J was hurt. Maybe he was lying helpless somewhere, bleeding and wounded, and needing his Harley girl to save him. Maybe…
But the door opened at that moment and she heard slow, heavy footsteps making their way toward the bedroom. Harley resumed her smile and repositioned herself. "I got such a bad report card, Daddy, and I hope you won't punish me too hard…" she began, but her smile fell when she saw the Joker's face.
He wasn't smiling. In fact, she had never seen him look more miserable. His shoulders were slumped as he entered the room, and his eyes looked as if someone had suddenly sucked the life out of them. He sat down heavily on the bed, staring into the middle distance, and Harley cuddled against his back. "Puddin'?" she asked, concerned. "You ok?"
He didn't respond, just stared straight ahead. "Puddin'?" she repeated. "Did something go wrong with the trap…"
"It wasn't a trap," he murmured, in a low voice.
"Oh. What was it?" she asked, puzzled.
"It was writing," he murmured. "Writing on the wall."
"What did it say, puddin'?" she asked. She couldn't imagine any writing could affect Mr. J this much – after all, people had written lots of horrible things about him before. She had read his patient file at Arkham before she had analyzed him. And Mr. J wasn't the type to take insults to heart.
"Puddin'?" she pressed.
"I just wanna go to bed, Harley," he murmured, lying down on the bed with his clothes still on and rolling away from her. "I just wanna sleep."
Harley was beyond worried now, more worried than she would have been if Mr. J was still missing. She had never seen him so deflated, so depressed, so unhappy. She snuggled against him, kissing the back of his neck tenderly. "You can't tell your Harley girl what's wrong?" she asked. "I wanna help, puddin'…"
"You can't help," he murmured. "No one can help me now. I can't just forget about it, after all."
"Forget about what, puddin'?" she asked.
He didn't respond, and he didn't move. Harley wrapped her arms around him and held him for what seemed like hours, until she felt herself about to drift off to sleep.
And then she heard a strange sound, a sound that made her eyes shoot open in astonishment. "Puddin'?" she gasped. He didn't move, but the noise continued, and Harley sat up in a panic, flicking on the bedside lamp and rolling him over to face her.
She couldn't have been more shocked or horrified when she saw tears running down the Joker's face. He was crying. The Joker was crying.
He sniffed again, which had been the noise Harley had heard, and then suddenly seized her around the waist, burying his face in her stomach. "Harley," he said, somewhere in between a sob and a moan. "Harley, it's all over!"
"What's all over, puddin'?" gasped Harley, stroking his hair back tenderly and trying to soothe him.
"The joke," he whispered. "The best joke in the world, the only joke worth living for. He wrote the punchline, Harley, and now the joke's over forever! He…he ruined it!"
"What did he ruin, puddin'?" whispered Harley. "What did he write?"
He raised his tear-stained face up to look at her and whispered, "Batman's secret identity."