A/N: This has been in my drafts for almost an entire year, so I am happy to present it to you.
Be My Escape
"Say it louder, say it louder
Who's gonna love you like me?
I don't wanna hurt you but you live for the pain
I'm not tryna say it but it's what you became
I'll always be there for you, I have no shame."
Everything had been going straight according to plan, so far. A simple job that J wanted to finish, yet risky enough for him to bring extensive manpower with him.
It was his favorite way to present himself, if he wasn't in the mood for something more creative: a classic raid, just let the goons shoot their way to the target and do the heavy work. A quick in and out, that still gave him time to make the punchline.
They were leaving the warehouse downtown in the early morning hours while Gotham was still asleep, with their machine guns still warm from the assault, flanked by the rest of their crew.
Harley bounced quite a bit ahead of the rest, doing a little pirouette and blowing a kiss to her partner.
He rolled his eyes, and she grinned wider at his relaxed gesture, giving a little squeak of happiness in return. She was so impatient to get home, to have him for herself again, to press her body to his and let him strip her down. Their private time had been falling short lately, and she hated to wait him out.
Harley contemplated teasing him just a little bit more than she was allowed with all the henchmen nearby, by bending over the nearest parked car in her skintight shorts and see what he would do, when the shooting started.
And they say romance is dead.
Instinctively crouching behind a car, she realized where the hail of bullets came from. On the opposite street a group of cops rounded the corner, opening fire. Using the car as a shield, she got to her feet and fired back at them through the broken windows, backed up by J's men. They were all scattering quickly, as per routine, and her first instinct was to look for Joker.
She couldn't see him anywhere, but kept shooting at the police, cruising between the parked cars on the street, as she moved backwards.
The shooting moved down the street in her direction and she rounded a corner, away from the scene. Safe! Stupid cops.
A thump behind her made her turn around. A large, heavy shadow had landed on the roof of a parked police car.
Shit.
"You're not invited to the party, Batsy!"
Harley stumbled backwards, almost falling on top of the hood of another car as she brought up her revolver again and fired relentlessly at his armor.
Memories washed over her - his thick gloved hand around her throat before he knocked her out and brought her to the police department, soaked and bruised.
She grasped her mallet tighter in her other hand and stuck out her tongue at him. She didn't have time to entertain him. Where is J?
She needed to get to him before Batsy tried to separate them again. This time he wouldn't manage, no, she would kill him with her bare hands if she must, but he would not take her away again.
Using the chaos around her to her advantage, she took off, dodging and hiding behind the cars, dropping her mallet to be able to run faster. Hopefully it would hit Batsy right in his smug face. She had separated from the henchmen, but the Bat's proximity didn't cease. If he was chasing her, at least J was free.
Baby Face, one of the Joker's henchmen, surprised them both and Batsy was momentarily overwhelmed by another rain of bullets that forced him to back off. Using the distraction, Harley rounded another corner and took a fire escape up on the side of a building, rushing up to the top so she could get an overview of the place. As long as she was on the lowest point on the ground, she would be a rat crawling around in a maze, free for the overgrown bat to pick up.
Crouching on the flat roof, trying to catch her breath, Harley checked that she still had her gun and knives in place.
"Give up, Quinn."
The dark voice behind her startled her. She drew her revolver, glaring at him.
"Back off, Batsy. I'm not going back to that place."
He stood in front of her, silent, the black leather of his suit gleaming in the first rays of sunlight that broke through the horizon. Harley gritted her teeth angrily, remembering all the damage he had done to them – the teeth, the car crash, the ambushes, that awful place, forcing her to work for the bitch Waller.
Harleen Quinzel would have diagnosed him as a person desperate to justify his own wrong-doings, a twisted morality. Batsy was no better than any of them. He was worse.
"You can still choose to surrender."
She fired her gun right at him before he had time to attack her, but the bullet didn't pierce his armor.
What are you gonna do? a voice in the back of her head asked.
She was stranded on a narrow roof with Batman and he was closing in on her, and she kept firing, hoping to hit a spot in his suit that wasn't bullet-proof. He slapped the gun away from her hand with one powerful blow and she backed away quickly. The last time he had managed to kick her, she had been peeing blood for days.
Harley drew her knife, the beautiful one with ivory in the handle that she had received as a gift from the Joker long ago. She gripped the smooth handle and imagined that he was telling her to fight back, to defend herself for him.
Stab him once and for all. Right in his face. Do it when he's sleeping.
A distracting melody rose to the back of her head - "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake..."
The voices were speaking up, distracting her. Hands. Blood. Forcevite meal replacement. A gagging ball in her mouth.
I can't. I can't do it again. I can't I can't I can't -
She glanced down at the street. Plain concrete ground below. If she were to land in the wrong position, her body would be squished like a fruit. The Joker had a pastime of pushing some of his victims from high heights, so she was well aware of it.
She had survived a fall from a moving helicopter before.
I'm Not. Going. Back.
Down there she saw some of the Joker's men moving, watchful. The policemen seemed to have been mowed down, but the goons kept looking for the Bat.
"Hey guys!" She called the henchmens' attention, hearing Batsy growl in return. She was already in a dangerous dance with the vigilante, only a few feet from the edge. He reached out to grab her.
Harley threw herself over the edge.
As she fell and instinctively prepared for the tuck and roll, she heard loud gunshots close by. She tucked together, before her body hit something hard and her planned landing went completely off course.
x
x
A rough surface against her face.
Wakey-wakey.
She moved her fingers on her left hand slowly, clenching and unclenching, feeling the palm burn hot. The heat spread down her forearm, up to her shoulder and then down her spine. Something hard and sharp was pressed up against her cheek.
Get up, looney tune. Are you gonna stay here all day, so the cops can collect you like a piece of trash?
She felt heavy, as if her limbs were filled with concrete.
I wanna sleep. Go away!
If you sleep now, you can turn in your criminal card. I'm sure Arkham would welcome you back. What will Joker say if you prove to be a nuisance that needs to be rescued again?
Shut up.
Struggling to get her eyes open, she tried to move her arms and start damage control. It felt slow like she was underwater, fighting against the instinct to just lie down on the ground again as if it was the softest, most inviting bed. The world around her was hazy.
She could still move, that was nice. It took her several minutes to find enough strength to brace her hands against the ground and then several more to raise herself up on her aching hands and knees. Is J okay?
It was far from worst thing she had ever experienced - it felt like it did after a night of violent sex or a bad gunfight – maybe she was hallucinating again. The feeling of having collided with a moving car didn't recede.
Her vision was blurry, but there was no sign of the Bat. Relief spread through her entire body, before nausea took over. After waiting for the worst to pass, she shakily sat up. Bleeding scratches decorated her knees and arms and her palms were glowing an angry red, feeling like she had just put them in boiling water. Her face was burning in the same manner.
It took her a while to orientate herself. Eventually she realized that the offending object had been the edge of a dumpster. Had she fallen down?
She carefully stretched out her arms and legs, inspecting them. Every limb and joint ached, but it worked.
She spotted Panda Man and Goat Man a bit further away, the latter nursing a nasty gun wound, and her heart beat faster. Someone must have distracted the Bat from catching her when she fell. She unsteadily got to her feet and walked down the street in their direction, then rounded the corner.
When she spotted the the familiar green head, her body filled with warm relief. He had his back against her, working with something. There were no signs of wounds on his body and he stood upright.
Jonny Frost stood next to him speaking on the phone, his uniform darkened with blood. J glared at Frost as if he wished the wound had been fatal. A dark, windowless van was approaching them on the street.
"Missed me, Puddin'?"
He turned around faster than she had ever seen him move. The glimpse in his eyes was momentarily so distressed, angry, it made her chest clench. Then his features relaxed.
The expression he showed her was not a smile, but it felt so welcoming, inviting, she wished she had strength enough to throw herself into his arms. She hurried up to him as fast as her aching body allowed, trying to act cool and unaffected, but her head was reeling and her knees felt close to give out. When she stopped, she lost her balance and had to grab his arm for leverage. She decided to latch onto him instead.
The van pulled up and they all climbed in. The men stuffed in their heavy weapon in the back. Harley had lost her gun and her mallet, another gift from J, and decided to go back and get them tomorrow if the Bat hadn't taken them in as evidence to the GCPD.
She sat next to the Joker, leaning against him and breathing his scent deeply. Slightly acidic, as always, sharp in the nostrils of anyone who wasn't used to it, mixed with metallic and dried blood. He put one arm loosely around her shoulder as he said something to Frost, in that same dangerously annoyed tone.
The next thing she was aware of was his arms lifting her out of the van. She stirred, blinking slowly, but all she saw was the tattoos on his chest. Then darkness swallowed her completely, weighing her down like stones.
x
Joker had noticed that she was being quieter than usual. He was satisfied with it; as any cheeriness from her side at this moment would have made him even more pissed and prompt him to shut her up.
He had not been paying much attention to her as they withdrew from the building or under the unexpected police attack, too focused on the next step of his plan. Afterwards when the survivors of his crew reunited she was the last one to show up, looking torn and dirty. He shot a glare at Frost; he should have covered her better.
When they arrived home the sun had risen, casting a bleak golden light over the empty streets. After the entire night out, finally overthrowing a mob boss' hideout, Joker was still running on leftovers of adrenaline and caffeine. Nothing could boast his energy like a good ol' police chase and a proper kill. But not even the fact that Batsy showed up could cheer him up.
We've got a snitch in our ranks, he thought, the rage coursing through his veins. Some of his partners were not trustworthy and this had cost him many men, and most of all, the entire deal.
Well, he'd deal with that later, the classic way – up against the wall with a noose around their necks. That would make them talk. If dead men can talk, he chuckled to himself, temporarily satisfied with the promise of murder.
First, Harley. She was completely unmoving in his arms, so he went to their bedroom and put her down on the bed. She didn't even stir, but he was too distracted to focus on that.
He simply pushed his tiredness away and entered the room he had made his office. He had more things planned before he called it a day. When he got in the mood, few things could make him change his mind and he could go on for days before he crashed, living purely off caffeine and alcohol.
He was going to organize a plan how to smoke out every little unfaithful mob boss sitting on a pile of money, thinking they could keep it from him. Not that he needed, or really wanted their money anymore. It was just about power.
Barely an hour passed by and he found it harder to concentrate, blaming it on the encounters with the policemen before he had a chance to gun them down. He needed coffee, and wondered what his little espresso-addict was up to, seeing as he couldn't hear her talking to herself in the kitchen.
The goons were not allowed on this floor and Jonny had gone to rest. He turned around to look for Harley, expecting her to be shadowing him like usual, but she was missing.
He found her in their bedroom where he left her. To his surprise she was out cold and had not even woken up to change her clothes. Her face was sporting an angry red bruise. She was absolutely unmoving, breathing soundly, and it annoyed him. She rarely ever fell asleep before him - she wasn't supposed to.
He stood still for a moment contemplating whether he should use this opportunity of complete silence to get some more work done - how he loved time to think without being interrupted by her constant chirping or singing or talking - or if he should get some much delayed rest. The last caffeine was wearing off, quickly.
Eventually, his burning eyes won the fight; after all he couldn't remember when he last had slept. He slipped out of his shirt and removed his holster but kept the guns and knives close to the bed, like usual. He changed to a pair of loose tracksuit pants and lay down on the bed next to her.
It annoyed him that she wasn't pressing herself to him like usual, stroking his hair or whispering in his ear - she just lay there like a limp doll. Although her touch sometimes irritated him, he didn't like the thought of not being able to have it at all. He was the one to decide when he wanted to be touched.
Her peaceful face reminded him of something – faded, jaded memories bubbling up to the surface like acid. Her skin half-corroded away and shedding, hair permanently bleached.
He stretched out on top of the covers. The worst part of his caffeine withdrawal, paired with several sleepless days, was hitting him in waves. The shadows he always pushed away at every waking moment, always alert and aggressive, closed in on him, one by one, and Harley was not there to distract him. Dark and looming, twisting, tainting him.
Growling quietly, he pulled her closer, noticing the large purple bruises on the top of her head.
He slipped his upper arm underneath her wounded head. The feeling of her limp, warm body against his side made his muscles relax slightly. He was still pissed with her for not helping him get to rest like usual, but it was still better.
Her sugary bubble gum scent, mixed up with dust, rust and sweat, and her calm breathing reminded his noisy, manic mind that she was with him again. It was not a sleepless hallucination, he had brought her back from that place. And every so often, when the shadows came back, her presence kept them at bay. She had sworn to never let him feel like that again, lost, miserable. He intended her to keep that promise with her life.
With her body secured against him, he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.
x
He woke up later, energized and in a slightly better mood, but the weight on his arm and a glance told him she had still not moved. It was unusual for her; she'd usually be speeded and ready to go at the same rate as him. Now she remained limp.
He rolled around and pressed her down into the mattress with his body, chest to chest, growling softly at her to let her know that he was not pleased with her inattention.
Her eyes slowly opened. She blinked in temporary confusion, then her pink lips stretched into a smile. He could feel her pulse speed up and her breathing got faster, but he simply rolled off her again and stretched out on the bed, yawning.
Her fingers ran through his green tresses lovingly, moving down to the base of his neck.
He purred approvingly when she rolled over to rest her body on top of his, settling between his legs. She placed her head on his chest, and her hand absently traced the tattoos on his lower stomach. He noticed another different thing about her – she was not rubbing herself against him, or trying to get him worked up like she usually would in the morning if they had not had sex in the night before.
She seemed to be dozing off again, her fingers tracing small circles and squares on his skin, and he put one arm around her to pull her closer. She mumbled something random and fell asleep.
He never thought he'd grow so addicted to her presence. He needed his fix from her, even in the lazy morning hours. He was not the type to think back, but that year without her had left traces, even if he would never admit it.
Eventually he moved to push her off, needing to get up and get on with the day – it was afternoon already.
She blinked and stared at him with big, confused eyes and lips slightly apart. He almost found it comical how clueless she could look.
He started dressing, keeping his pants on and pairing it with a smooth dark purple shirt. As he buttoned it he noticed she had moved out of bed, confusedly staring at her shorts and tight t-shirt, the same she had been wearing the day before. She still looked comically shaken, and he giggled.
Harley stared emptily in front of her, the way she sometimes did when the voices gripped her too hard. He didn't like anyone else having her attention, so he casually strode over to her and grasped her waist, feeling her plump skin beneath his fingers.
Instead of reciprocating, she stared up at him with wide eyes.
A shaky breath. "Joker?"
x
x
You're all alone, Harleen whispered in her ear. They're all dead, at Arkham, don't you remember?
No! someone else chimed in. You drowned in a vat of chemicals.
You're stuck at Arkham yourself, a third one intervened.
Don't you remember the lights? The voice in your ear? He left you for dead!
She shook her head, trying to compose herself, realizing he was still standing in front of her, waiting for her to say something. The shock almost pressed the air out of her lungs but she tried to act cool.
The Joker is standing in front of me! Maybe I can ask him for an interview!
He glared at her. "Harley?"
She rubbed her head, looking up at him while the voices fought in her head. You've really done it this time, Harls.
"What am I doing here?" she asked him.
He gave her an incredulous look, then put on his holster, finishing dressing. "This is not funny, Harls. I am the funny guy around here, not you."
She stared at him with wide eyes, drawing out an annoyed look from him. "Did ya hit your head or something?"
Closing her mouth, she couldn't take her eyes from his form.
Something flashed in his eyes and he moved over and gripped her jaw tightly with one hand.
"I said, did ya hit ya head?"
A few moments passed without a word. She backed away from his grip and stared at him. "Answer me, Joker."
He growled, craning his neck in irritation. Leaning close to her, he snarled: "Is Doctor Quinzel back?"
She glared back at him. "I wanna know what I am doing in this room with you. What did we do?"
"You slept like a corpse." He laughed dryly.
She stomped out of the room. He shrugged, going to his office again to make up for lost time. Where was he again? A snitch in the ranks, indeed.
Harley stomped out of the room and through the hideout, looking for the exit. She knew the man, she only didn't know how she ended up there. Where would she go? Nothing made sense anymore.
Passing by a mirror - this place was full of them - she saw herself. She looked like she had been hit by a car. Half her face was angrily glowing red, her lips swollen and bruised. Her hair was messy and her body covered with wounds. A feverish heat was pounding inside of her skull. This floor, with expensive furniture, a white piano in a far corner, weapons and jewelry strewn out among the mirrors... it was familiar.
She looked out the window and saw the street far below. The sight made her nauseous and she backed off, bumping into a couch.
x
Jonny Frost, freshly showered in a clean suit, hoped the day would go by in peace. The four hours of sleep he had indulged in were not enough to prepare him for another heist.
As he warily made his way over to his Boss' office, he found Quinn sitting in a couch by the panorama window, arms miserably wrapped around her knees. He avoided eye contact as usual.
"Hey."
Frost turned around and looked at her, silently hoping she wouldn't send him off to the candy store again. She looked... different. Her face was burning as if she had a fever. He thanked the higher powers she was at least fully dressed this time. Big blue eyes, surrounded by messy makeup, stared at him.
"Are you the butler?"
Staring at her in surprise, he tried to get an overview of the situation. Had Boss done something to her?
"I work for J," he replied, feeling stupid. Experience had taught him to never ignore Quinn, no matter the intelligence level of her questions. Boss would have his head if he ever disrespected her, especially during these circumstances.
He turned to leave but froze when he saw big tears rolling down her cheeks and her posture stiffen.
"Miss Quinn, are you alright?"
Her grip around herself tightened. "I... don't know. What am I doing here?"
What do to? Call Boss and convince him to get a doctor? Frost weighed the options to himself as Harley dried her tears and put the television on. A giggle left her mouth as Cartoon Network caught her interest.
"You live here," he stated formally, as he tried to leave the room before something happened.
She got up from the couch, shakily, grabbing onto his arm. Frost felt a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. This was approaching dangerous territory. He noticed how warm her body was. "Have I seen you before? I was looking for J but I don't know... where he is..." Her eyelids fluttered as if she was about to collapse.
Steadily Frost guided her back to the couch. A concussion or psychosis? Either way, this wasn't looking too good.
"Stay here. I will be right back."
She nodded, already occupied with the cartoons again. "I wanna see the Merry Melodies!"
The two men came into the room a few minutes later. Joker huffed. "This better not be wasting my time, Jonny."
Harley looked up from the couch, wide and glazed eyes. "My head hurts. Do you have a pill?"
Her partner frowned, walking over to her. She waved at him. "Nice to meet you!"
Joker gritted his teeth. "Snap out of it!" he hissed. He stopped himself from slapping her, seeing how her pretty face was already bruised from yesterday. Harley hushed him. "I'm watching telly."
Turning to his right-hand man, Joker waved impatiently. "Get me a doctor."
"I don't want no doctor!" Harley protested, shaking her head vigorously. Frost left the room to call for one, leaving Boss to deal with his lady.
Joker leaned over the couch. "How about I be your doctor instead?" He studied her face, watching her reaction.
Looking at him with wide eyes, she smiled. "Are you licensed?"
"Oh yes."
"What are we gonna do?" Curiosity hinted in her face.
He motioned for her to follow him back into the bedroom. "Cute rug!" Harley said, pointing at the bear skin rug on the floor with its gaping head. She sat down on the king-sized bed, looking curiously at him.
Standing in front of her, he stared intensely into her eyes. "You don't know who I am?"
"Of course! You're the Joker!" She nodded as if to enhance her statement. "Are you going to electrocute me?"
We're getting there... He caressed her cheek for a moment. "Later, my dear."
"Do you know who you are?"
She shook her head vaguely.
"Hmm... then I gotta invent you again," he mused.
She leaned forward eagerly, but her eyes were glazing over. He put his hand to her face, slowly, to determine her reaction. When she leaned into his touch, encouraging him, he let his thumb stroke her bottom lip. "Close your eyes."
She complied with a vague smile. "I'm flying." Watching her face, he let his hand run down to her shoulder.
"Who am I gonna be, Doctor?" She trembled underneath his touch.
He leaned in to whisper into her ear. "Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. Do you really want it?"
A sharp gasp startled them both. Harley stared at him with wide eyes, her body trembling slightly.
Joker withdrew from her, watching her intensely. Harley gulped down air, before she threw herself at him. She didn't attack him as he had expected, instead she clung to him with enough force to press the air out of his lungs.
Just as he relaxed, she whispered: "Do you know where my Puddin' is?"
x
His entire body stiffened. Staring down at her tear-stained face, emotions bubbled to the surface. He attempted to push her away but she kept her grip around him.
"Please." She leaned in. "Where is he?"
Stroking some strands of hair away from her bruised face and fully seeing the extent of her wounds, he cupped his hand around her head, growling. "If you weren't so crazy, I'd think you were insane."
Recognition flashed in her eyes and he leaned in, kissing her deeply. It was unusually soft, without the sharp, biting edge to it. Her voice was muffled by his mouth, and she only stared into his eyes, tears drying on her cheeks. Almost instinctively she locked him tight in her embrace, wrapped herself around his body to pull him closer.
When he pulled away, she desperately clung to him and her strength pulled them both down onto the bed. Her face smeared with makeup and tears, was buried in his chest and soaked his newly pressed shirt. He felt her pressing kisses all the way up and down his chest, tearing at the buttons in his shirt.
He stopped her with a hand underneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Please," she whined.
She needed him in a way that was painful, a void that needed filling, that only he could soothe. She buried her nails into his skin, no urgency about it, just silently asking. Tearing him down with her eyes, working with the buttons in his shirt, then giving up and pulling off her own t-shirt and bra. The world was hazy but he remained in focus, in whatever trippy dream this was.
He decided to put her to the test. "Say it."
"Pretty, pretty, please -" She found herself on her back, shorts pulled down and him discarding his own clothes with a carelessness she recognized. "Mistah J."
Wasting no time, he lowered himself down between her spread legs, diving into her, entering her. For a moment that was enough, locking them there.
He had never planned to give in to her, but when she offered the drug that she was right in front of him, hell be damned, he'd give in and take it.
His hands were on her skin just to keep her there, close enough. He gripped her arms tightly, cutting off her blood flow, but she didn't mind. She stared into those steel blue, manic eyes even when his gaze since long became unfocused and distant, overwhelmed.
He was inside; his brow frowned slightly when he felt her, warm and velvet, opening her body to him, needing him to soothe something she couldn't explain. A slight, soft sound left his throat; she had never heard a sound of such comfort before.
Holding her still, his hips started moving. He rocked into her, in firm but ever so slow thrusts, and every movement brought her back more and more. She just held onto him as he fucked her steadily, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
She waited for him to come back to her, to leave his head, but he seemed content there. His body was in tune with hers, and she automatically adjusted her body after his. She knew she always fit him perfectly, their bodies like two pieces of a puzzle, molding together in sync.
After a moment he lowered his head into her neck and she felt the scraping of his teeth, anticipating a nice mark, but he withdrew, his hips picking up in pace again. She welcomed it, seeking his mouth to press a big kiss to it. Her entire world was focused on the feeling of him deep inside, invading her deepest depths, to the very opening of her womb.
She just held him tight, shielding him, soothing him and herself, her hands moving across his shoulder blades.
When she clenched around him, he groaned into her skin, punctuating with a thrust that pushed her down into the mattress. She let her fingers thread through his hair in the way that would make him wild, feeling him grip her tighter and snap his hips into her. She smelled blood and knew he had left a teeth mark somewhere, maybe she had scratched him, it didn't matter.
She gasped softly when she came around him, pushing him over the edge with a groan. His warmth soothed them both and he stayed inside, as his gaze focused on hers again. He continued thrusting lazily, forcing a moan from her.
He rolled over with her in his arms without breaking contact, keeping her close, pressed to his chest. She clenched softly around his sensitive member just to feel his arms tighten around her, almost instinctively. Their mixed fluids were running out of her, nice and warm, and she felt filled and content. Encased in a bubble with him, she felt calmer than ever.
She caressed the dark shadows underneath his eyes, and he purred underneath her touch. Strangely calm; as if his chaos had subsided for a few hours. He held her so tight, almost bruising, and she was home. There was no other place, no other home, for neither of them. His breathing against hers, getting worked up as she giggled and kissed him, again.
She remembered his calmer episodes, when he would admire her like a work of art, his fingers exploring every inch of her, once again claiming his territory.
He would rarely be so passionate as he had been now; it reminded her of their chemical he held her and kissed her, devouring her, how his eyes looked only at her. In that moment she had known he was as much hers as she was his.
"You're on bed rest for a while," he grumbled, using a tone that told her there was no use in arguing.
She had already dozed off on his chest.
Fin.
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Love, Crystallinee