A/N: Before you read this story, I strongly suggest you read my other story "Go Home". It gives the full backstory.

This is based on Harley's and Joker's relationship as portrayed in Suicide Squad. Based on Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn and Jared Leto's Joker.

Life and Death

Chapter 1/Prologue

The Joker was there in the dark room, next to her on the bed. He watched as she brought the pill past her chapped lips, it melted on her tongue.

"Do you feel it?" he asked. "I can hear them, emerging…"

He suddenly grinned, a hint of anticipation flashing in his eyes. Harley reached up and touched his face, he was real. She tiredly smiled back at him, and his lips stretched wider, teeth glinting in the dusk.

"You'll see, Harls. I can't wait for you to wake up again."

She couldn't tear her gaze off his face, hardly comprehending how much she had missed it during her time spent in deep slumber. "Really?"

"Yes," he purred, leaning down and pressing his lips roughly to hers.

The pill he had given her was effective; she was once again slipping into heavy darkness, but she still heard his voice, darkly laced with amusement.

"Your little friends say such interesting things when you're asleep. I wish you could hear them, too."

"What?" she slurred, wondering what her voices said. Her vision was fading, she fell back into warm unconsciousness, but he was close to her, whispering in her ear.

"Baby's back."

x

She woke up by daylight filtering into the room. She had no idea how long she had been out and Mr. J was nowhere to be seen. Harley looked around, hazily, her entire body stiff from being immobile for so long.

In the bed, among the messy sheets, were some strange garments. Had he left clothes for her? She slowly sat up.

The Joker had kept a great deal of things that he had collected in her absence while she was locked up in Belle Reve. She had noticed the large amounts of photos and newspaper articles of her that he kept lying around. It was one of the things she found most flattering; she loved his serial killer obsession. Harley smiled to herself.

Beside her on the pillow, someone had placed a pair of baby onesies, one purple and one black. Harley took one of the suits and held it up. It would fit a small infant.

The realization that had been kept from her by her own treacherous mind came over her.

Tears filled her eyes and overflowed, as her smile grew wider.

Every time the voices started making noise, he gave her the pills like before. He always had them ready, wherever they went.

Since Baby's voice in her head disappeared, the other ones with Harleen in the front line had been trying to fill that space. They never had a chance to get to her anymore, he held them back. That was the reason he had kept her in the safe house recently, so he wouldn't have to drag her unconscious body back later when the pills kicked in.

There was no point in trying to resist; her body was aching for the relief and his hands were unrelenting. His jaw set firmly when she objected; if she put up a fight he would push her down, slipping them in her mouth.

And just like that she was in the nothingness again. She knew she must go deeper, reach the final step of freedom, break her mind and turn it inside out all over again.

Harley floated freely and danced in the sky, her body in drug-induced comatose, the voices drowned one by one. She knew that sometimes he sat with her and listened to everything her mind babbled about.

He got more and more acquainted with her demons just for fun. And when she woke up, everything was hazy, but she was in control again. He loved to see her wake up, they never knew which version of her would appear. She would be new, exciting again, for him alone.

Joker was stronger than her demons; he had always been. He was crueler than they could ever be, and he trapped them. He listened to them and dove into her deepest depths when she was wide open. Harley liked it, knowing it was another way for them to bond even if she wasn't there to see it.

She was always one step behind; her subconscious had caught up on the change long before her body even reacted. Before her brain and hormones had a chance to catch on, the voices had told him.

Of course, he always had a plan. She always followed along with whatever he came up with; heist or escape plan, she didn't have a clue, and she never worried about a thing. There was no need to plan or analyze, because life was fleeting and Mr. J was with her.

.

Harley woke up, sluggish, after another two days of being in the nothingness. She ached to get out on the streets again, to wreak havoc and play their wild games.

It felt a bit strange: two times she had woken up after a long time, and he already knew. How many times had it been? She grazed her skin, remembering clearly the first time on the med table in the bombed medical wing of Arkham, the countless times after that. A proof of her connection with Mr. J. He had left traces inside of her every time.

She moved, impatient to get dressed up and shower, when she saw him. He was in the room with her; he rarely left her alone.

Standing with his back against her in the far end of the bedroom, his silhouette was refined in the light from the large windows. Her gaze followed the curve of his back, the shirt that clung tightly to it, the fabric straining over his muscles. The familiar sound of him sharpening knives and arranging them filled the room.

Harley moved her messy hair out of her face, still completely cut off from all sense of reality and context – she had no memory where she had been before the last pills, floating in and out of a dream.

Still, one clear memory lingered – the small infant clothes he had placed by her bedside a few weeks earlier. It had twisted and touched her – did it meant he wanted it? Did he? As usual, he rarely communicated through words, but through the strangest actions. It kept her on the edge trying to figure him out.

Her hands moved down to the skin below her naval, following the twirls of the 'Lucky You' tattoo. Her abdomen seemed slightly rounded. She giggled to herself, a sense of pride swelling in her chest. I'm pregnant with Mistah J's baby.

He turned around when he heard her. He looked more maniacal than usual, darker shadows underneath his eyes. There was a glimpse of something in his eyes that she recognized: he was restless, he needed a new game.

Poor Puddin', waiting for her every day and night. She wanted to follow him out tonight, play their favorite game, make him laugh again. She missed the bloodshed and the screams, the gleam of true glee in his eyes.

Joker approached her, his favorite knife in his hand, freshly sharpened. She reached up to kiss him, but the look on his face made her wait with the smooching. He stood beside the bed where she sat with crossed legs.

She knew she must be looking terrible; messy hair around her face and the same clothes she had worn for days on end. She wanted to get up and change, but again, he looked like he wasn't going to let her leave the room.

The madness in his eyes made them so much clearer, an utterly aware tint in them. He was actively thinking, calculating, she knew, driving himself to the edge with his thoughts. His free hand reached out to cup her chin. She leaned into his touch.

"It's much harder to live than to die," he said matter-of-factly, reminding her of his strange seriousness during their chemical reunion. His eyes were dead serious, trapping her in his gaze.

"Death is just a play, the final act." He flashed his trademark grin, caressing his knife, and she giggled. She remembered all the faces and throats he had cut up with it, how it looked dyed in crimson. How swift it was in his grip, how he skilled he was, cutting through limbs like butter.

Harley smiled proudly. For a moment he seemed like his usual self, a wordless connection between them. Then his voice raised, finding another pitch.

"Death is… easy. Life is a game, Harley. A fun, deadly game."

His gaze was once again unpredictable, the air around him shifting. She felt herself perking up in reaction, loving the tension.

His eyes traveled down her body, to her abdomen. He tightened his grip on the handle of the knife and let his thumb run over the smooth, purple surface with a golden-plated J engraved.

Harley felt a sudden surge of discomfort through her body. An instinctive feeling of something she couldn't define that made her want to pull back or put her hands in front of her stomach. She looked up at his face again.

"You said you would live for me," the Joker drawled, voice turning darker. "You made an oath for life and death. There is simply…" One of his white, bony hands suddenly placed on her belly. "… No return."

"I'm always yours, Puddin'." Harley leaned in again, smiling widely. "Ride or die. You know I love a good game."

For once, this reassurance didn't seem to ease his mind. His eyes were hard and set on her, a familiar calculating look on his face.

Harley's breath hitched slightly. Her hands instinctively moved down, underneath his. "Puddin'?"

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. She always had been completely fearless in his presence. Now, she feared for something else, something that had slipped away too many times.

His eyes snapped open and she was suddenly terrified that he'd stab the blade through her abdomen.

Harley didn't pull back. He was the only one who mattered.

"Are you ready to play that game?" He gave her a wry smile, moving his hand from her belly to the knife. He toyed with the razor-sharp edge, teeth glimmering in the dusk. "Of life? Or would you prefer death, my dear?"

His fingers danced across the blade. He leaned in very close, eyes set on her as he spoke slowly. "Do you want this?"

He was asking her to choose... for the little one. Harley stared up at him, suddenly catching on. For the first time since she had jumped for him, he was giving her a choice.

"I want it, Puddin'," Harley eagerly said. "I want us to have it!" Had he ever denied her something she'd asked for?

His face was only inches away from her. One of his hands placed on her lower back, the knife hovering somewhere above her. She stared into his eyes, fearless and joyful.

"Who do you live for?"

"You, only you," and she broke through the analyzing expression in his eyes.

He must have seen the complete, undying devotion in her voice and eyes because his breathing slowed down.

"I have bound myself to you forever," she reminded him with a smile. "My dying corpse will follow you around, Puddin'."

He slowly pushed her down onto the bed and sat in front of her. She beamed at him, but he frowned in familiar concentration. His knife sliced her shirt up, just barely grazing her light skin. It was the expression of ultimate trust – she smiled and ran her fingers through his hair as the blade of his knife traveled over her heart, down in a straight line without drawing blood, down to her groin.

She winced in excitement, feeling the cold metal, squirming a little at the sensation. "Puddin'..."

"Later, Harls. No more pills," he muttered as his other fingers explored her chest, dipping down to her naval. They came to rest obsessively on her skin.

Butterflies filled her and she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. Her oath was complete. A part of him inside of her, something new that would belong to the both of them. A connection soaked in blood.

"Our own little monster," Harley cooed. She grinned at him. "Ain't we gonna have so much fun?"

Suddenly he started laughing, and she knew that laugh. High pitched, maniacal, his head thrown back – it was amusement, even glee.

Harley laughed with him, and their shrill voices bounced off the walls.