A Day in the Life of Harley Quinn
She awoke with a smile on her face, to feel the shape beside her, radiating warmth and safety like a ray of sunshine. She turned over to see his back, white and perfect, despite the stray scars that marred it. She had her favorite scars, and she studied them with a smile – there was the one that looked like a heart, if you squinted and turned your head slightly. And the one that looked like a J, her favorite letter. And there was her absolute favorite, the one that looked like a big smile. Seeing this reinforced the fact that she was happy, safe and happy, with her Mr. J, so that her own smile widened. She put her arms around his neck and snuggled into his body, kissing his cheek and murmuring, "Morning, puddin'."
He grunted, shifting slightly in bed. Harley smiled, gazing at him in adoration. She loved him so much. Everything about him. The scent of him as she was pressed against him, the way he looked now, just waking from sleep, the muscles of his face calm and relaxed, his green hair limp and untamed. She loved his hair. She began stroking it back gently, still staring at him, at his perfect face, at his perfect red lips. She bent down and kissed them tenderly.
He grunted again as her hair fell into his face and irritated him, lazily batting her away. She loved the way his face scrunched up when he was irritated, just like she loved the way it tightened when he was angry, or relaxed when he was happy. She knew every expression of it, and she loved every expression of it. God, he was so beautiful. So perfect. This was perfect. This was heaven, she thought, as she lay back down next to him, cuddling against him. Surrounded by his presence, her life was perfect.
He shifted again. "Time?" he muttered.
She gazed up at the clock over the bed. "Eleven thirty," she replied, kissing his back.
She felt his body suddenly tense. "What?"
"Eleven thirty," she repeated, snuggling closer to him. "We can spend a couple more hours in bed, if you want. In the mood for a little playtime, Mr. J? Wanna rev up your Harley some more?"
She was about to kiss him again when he suddenly leapt up from the bed, scrambling to find his clothes. "Why didn't you wake me earlier, you stupid girl?!" he shouted.
"Sorry, puddin', I didn't know we had someplace to be today," said Harley, puzzled, sitting up. "I thought it was our day off. Monday's always our day off after our Wacky Weekends."
"Which is why Batman won't be prepared for us to pull this job on a Monday!" he shouted. "He knows it's our day off! He's expecting us not to do anything today! Which is why we are doing this today, so we can completely foil his expectations! God, Harley, you're dense! Where the hell are my socks?!"
"On the fan," she said, nodding up to the ceiling. "I threw them up there after you threw my bra, remember? You made that joke about how you were a fan of my…" she trailed off, gathering from his face that he wasn't really in the mood for remembering jokes right now. "Never mind. Can you reach it down for me?"
"For the love of…" he muttered, balancing on the bed to reach up. "You don't even need to wear one, Harley, there's nothing there to support!"
He threw her bra at her as he pulled on his socks, looking around for his trousers. Harley had always been a little insecure about her chest size – she had a gymnasts' build, which is what she always told herself when the other girls at school had made fun of her. But Mr. J had never seemed to mind before. She felt a little hurt as she buckled on her bra, but then shrugged it off as him just being cranky at waking up late.
"What are you still doing lollygagging in bed?!" he demanded, dressed to his undershirt and heading into the bathroom. "We've got places to be, you lazy waste of space! Get dressed and come do my hair!"
Harley got up and began pulling on her clothes. She kicked herself mentally for not waking him up earlier, but she liked to let him get his sleep on his days off. He worked so hard the rest of the week. Her angel deserved some occasional rest and peace and quiet.
"Harley, now!" he shouted. She rushed into the bathroom, still struggling to zip up her suit. He was in a mood, but his moods never lasted long. She assured herself that he'd be back to her usual happy, jolly Mr. J soon.
"Sorry, puddin'," she said, reaching for the comb and brylcreem. "What's the job for today?"
"You'll find out when I want you to," he snapped. "Concentrate, Harley."
"Yes, sir," she replied, shaping his hair into his usual widow's peak and curl. She stepped back to let him see the result in the mirror.
"It'll have to do," he snapped, pushing it back. "We don't have time for you to redo it. Though you'd think you could get it right, after doing it a million goddamn times before. Now put on your makeup. You look like crap without it," he muttered, storming from the room.
Harley obeyed, trying not to smear her makeup with tears. She knew he didn't mean it – just last night he had cupped her natural face in his hands and called her his beautiful, precious little Harley doll. But that was last night, and he had been in a good mood. A very good mood. The scheme had gone well and he had got to mutilate some cops before blowing up a building full of civilians. Those kinds of things put him in a good mood, and made him laugh, made him happy and affectionate. She prayed that the plan went well today, so he would be in a good mood again. She loved him whatever his mood, of course, but she preferred the fun, laughing, happy Mr. J to this angry, hurtful, cruel one. But she still loved him, she reminded herself. She had to take the good with the bad, the rough with the smooth – that was what love was all about.
"Harley, tie!" he shouted.
She rushed out of the bathroom to see him fully dressed except for his bowtie, which he held out to her. She tied it around his neck, straightening it so it looked just right, and beamed.
"You look beautiful, baby," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss him.
He shoved her out of the way and headed for the door. "Let's go – we don't have all day!" he snapped.
She rushed after him as he strode into the common room. His face immediately lit up in a grin as he shouted, "Rise and shine, boys! We're off to surprise the Bat!"
The single henchman lounging in the front room looked puzzled. "But boss, it's our day off," said Rocco.
"That's the surprise, all right, Roc!" laughed Joker. "Don't tell me you don't like it? You wouldn't want to upset me by not enjoying it, would you?"
"No, boss," said Rocco, hastily. "It's just…Curly went to go get a case of beer, Larry's at the track, and Moe went to his girlfriend's."
"Well, call them and tell them to get their asses back here this instant," said Joker. "We don't have a lot of time to waste. We need to be at the Gotham Central Bank for 12.30 on the dot."
"Something happening there at 12.30, Mr. J?" Harley asked.
He turned to her, smiling. "No, Harl, it's just my astrologer predicted that would be a good time for me to go make a deposit. Of course something's happening there, what a stupid question, you dumb broad!" he shouted, hitting her across the back of the head.
"What is it, boss?" asked Rocco.
Joker turned back to him, smiling again. "Don't want to spoil another surprise, Roc. I'll tell you all together on our way over. Just call the other three now."
Rocco obeyed, nodding at Harley. She nodded back, grateful to him. Rocco was a nice guy, who took a fatherly interest in her, and tried to divert Joker's attention away from her whenever he was angry, to spare her pain. Harley knew Joker mistreated her more when the henchmen were watching. It wasn't because he hated her or anything, but because he didn't want to appear soft in front of them. He had an image to preserve, and he couldn't preserve it if he was sweet and tender to her. She understood why he did it, and that was the important thing. You can put up with these things as long as you understand them, she told herself.
Besides, she was privileged. Mr. J always had to put on an act for the henchmen, always had to be his smiling, laughing self. It was only with Harley that he could truly be himself, giving voice to what he actually felt and thought, rather than his constantly smiling façade. In a way, she was lucky that he had been cruel and mean this morning. That's how Harley knew she was special – he wouldn't show his true self to just anyone. His bad side was for her and her alone. In a way, that made it all better. Only Harley could see his dark side. He only trusted her with it. That made her special. He thought she was special. And that gave her a warm feeling inside as she gazed at him in adoration.
"…yeah, I know, Moe, but J insists," said Rocco, as they heard angry shouting over the other end of the phone. "He's got something set up for the Gotham bank and wants everyone over here now…yeah, I know it's our day off…yeah…yeah, I know, but J…"
Joker suddenly grabbed the phone off him. "Hi Moe, hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said, grinning. "Bad timing, is it? You and the missus a little preoccupied? Uh huh. Look, I know it's inconvenient and all, and I'm really, really sorry, but the fact is I pay you to do your goddamn job, and that goddamn job is to do exactly what I say exactly when I say it. And I'm saying that you get your ass over here this instant before I come over there and break the bitch's spine so she's on her back permanently! Get me? Good. I'll pass you back to Rocco, thanks for chatting! See you soon, love to Ann, buh bye."
Harley loved Mr. J's threats and displays of force, and how he could go from friendly to dangerous and back to friendly in an instant. God, he was so hot. Such a strong, powerful man. Wild and spontaneous and so forceful. She loved his threats and displays of force even when they were directed at her - especially then. There was an excitement in them, knowing that he could carry them out, that he had the power to do that. She wished for the second time in about half an hour that she had woken him up earlier, because she wanted him really badly right now.
She leant forward to kiss him, but he shoved her away. "Not now, Harley," he growled. "The other two on their way, Roc?"
"Yes, boss," he replied.
"Good," he muttered, looking at his watch. "Go get the car ready."
Rocco left them. Harley wasn't giving up that easily. "Mr. J?" she murmured.
"What?" he snapped.
"Would you break my spine if I was a very bad girl?" she whispered.
He looked at her, and was pleased to see his lips twist into a grin, a genuinely happy grin. "Sure I would, toots," he murmured. "I'd snap you in two like a twig."
"Yeah?" she whispered. "How'd you do that?"
He had seized her around the throat and shoved her down to the ground in an instant. "Like this," he whispered, tightening his grip. "I'd choke you until you were dizzy, until you could barely breathe, let alone fight me. And then I'd take your little neck, and bend your little body over my knee, and push down, hard and sudden. And I'd hear the little snap, the satisfying sweet little snap of your spine, and I'd muffle your screams with my mouth," he whispered, bending down to kiss her.
Harley could barely breathe, but she loved it. Oh God, did she love it. This was excitement. He had his hand around her throat and was choking her while his mouth was pressed into hers – the joy in that moment, the excitement, the fear, the blood pounding in her ears, the kiss he gave her even as he hurt her, the pain, the pleasure, this was living.
The three missing henchmen entered at that moment, and Joker quickly released her. Harley drew a shuddering breath, gasping. "Oh…Mr. J," she breathed, gazing at him in adoration.
"Ready to go, boys?" asked Joker, grinning as he slapped Harley's bottom playfully. She smiled. That had put him back in his good mood. Violent fantasies usually did.
They all three muttered assent, Moe glaring in hatred at him. His glare quickly focused on Harley instead. "Something wrong, Moe?" asked Joker. "You know I want my men to wear smiles to work."
"Nothing," muttered Moe. "Just…y'know…doesn't seem right."
"What doesn't seem right?" asked Joker.
"Nothing," he repeated.
"I think that's a double negative, Moe, which means that nothing doesn't seem right, which means that everything does seem right, which means you should be smiling," said Joker, grinning, but there was a threat behind his grin. "Now get in the car."
He strode out of the room. Harley was still recovering herself and followed after the men. "Just a bit crap, really," muttered Moe to Larry, loud enough for Harley to hear. "Y'know, that the clown's allowed to have fun with his little bitch anytime he wants while we're not even allowed to have personal lives."
"You got something to say, Moe, you say it to my face," snapped Harley.
"I wasn't talking to you," he retorted. "Are you deaf and stupid?"
"I ain't either," she snapped.
"Yeah, you are," he retorted, angrily. "He's gonna kill you someday, you stupid whore. And you're going to love it, you sick, twisted bitch. You disgust me. You both do."
"That ain't no way to talk to a lady," muttered Harley. "You apologize for your language now, Moe, or I'll tell Mr. J."
"Yeah, where would you be without your precious Mr. J?" he demanded. "You wouldn't last five minutes on your own without him. And lemme tell you, you dumb blonde, you'd better hope you don't get five minutes alone with me, or I'll make you scream really hard. And you won't enjoy that pain, you sick little slut. I guarantee it."
Harley punched him across the face, taking him off guard. She kicked him down to his knees, then seized his collar. "Nobody threatens me but Mr. J, you got that?" she hissed. "I ain't afraid of you, Moe, because you don't mean it. You're a coward, a pathetic wimp who would never have the strength to go through with torturing someone. You're a thug, a common thug who can probably punch a guy out, and maybe rape a woman, but that's it. And that ain't power, Moe, any guy can do that. You know what gets me off about Mr. J? You really want to know? He means it. He could decide to torture me, and he would really do it, and he would really love it, and so would I. He's a guy who means what he says, a guy who loves violence and ain't afraid to indulge his passion. That's what drives me wild, because we share the same passion. But that's real violence, Moe, not common, everyday violence. Real violence, with real pain, real depth, real style, real suffering, and God, is it hot. So no, I wouldn't enjoy any pain you could give me. Because you ain't man enough to give me the kinda pain I need."
"Harley, play nice," said Joker, who had returned to see what the commotion was about, and was smiling at her. "Moe's had a trying morning with his girlfriend, and we should be understanding of that, and forgive him when he says things that might seem offensive."
Harley released him. "Poor, crazy, mixed-up dame," she said, glaring at him. "Glad I ain't dating a thug, Mr. J."
"Well, maybe she won't be for much longer, baby," replied Joker, kissing her cheek. "Being a henchman is a dangerous business, you know. So many hazards, from rival gangs to Batman. And accidents can happen. I'd be careful if I were him. I'd be very careful indeed."
Harley grinned. It was so sweet for Mr. J to threaten his own henchmen for her. He held up the keys. "Wanna drive, dollface?"
"Sure thing, puddin'," she replied, taking the keys from him. They climbed into the car with the henchmen following. Harley settled into the driver's seat with Joker next to her in the front. They left the lair and blended into the twisting streets of Gotham.
They had been driving for a little while when Harley suddenly felt a sharp pain. She yipped, and looked down to see Joker's hand on her thigh. He grinned at her and held up his hand, revealing a nail attached to his glove. There was a bleeding cut in her costume where his hand had been.
She grinned back at him. That was one of his jokes – appearing to be affectionate, but with a painful surprise. Pain was affection to him. At least it was only her thigh this time – that nail had done a lot of damage elsewhere before. But it made him happy. It was cute really.
He replaced his hand on her thigh and then moved it down, curving it up slightly and then removing it suddenly. He replaced it again, cutting a sharp, horizontal stroke on top of the other. It was incredibly difficult for Harley to focus on the road, rather than on her wound. She glanced down to see that the cut was bleeding, bleeding the shape of a J.
She gazed at him. "Oh, puddin'," she breathed. This was beyond affection. This was him marking her, claiming her, claiming her for his own. This was his ensuring that she belonged only to him, totally and completely. It was the most romantic thing he had done in recent memory, and it made her unbelievably happy.
"Eyes on the road, Harley," he snapped suddenly. She looked up and had to swerve to avoid hitting a truck.
"Sorry, puddin'," she murmured. She returned her attention to the road, but couldn't help fantasizing. God, why did they have to do whatever this plan was today? Why couldn't it wait? Why couldn't they just go back to the lair, dismiss the henchmen, and he could hurt her, hurt her until she screamed for mercy, hurt her until she was in an agony of pleasure? Why couldn't he just take her now, right here? Here, in front of everyone, ripping off her costume and squeezing her thigh until it spurted blood, showing everyone how much he loved his Harley girl…
"Stop!" Joker shouted, and she braked suddenly. "Where do you think we're going, the Batcave? We're here, you dizzy cow!"
"Sorry, puddin'," she repeated, forcing her mind back to reality.
"And not a minute too soon," Joker laughed, rubbing his hands in glee. "The mint truck's just arrived to dump off the cash. We'd better go see it's deposited safely, boys!"
Everyone got out of the car, reaching for their guns. "Solo entrance, boss?" asked Harley.
"I think so, Harley," he replied. "I feel like doing a standup routine. And anyway, I need you to keep these bozos in line," he muttered, gesturing to the henchmen.
"Sure thing, Mr. J," she breathed. He needed her. He trusted her to keep the men in line. He wouldn't trust just anyone with that responsibility. She was special. He pinched her cheek affectionately just before he kicked open the door to the bank and entered.
"Greetings, Gotham! Joker here!" he cried. "So a guy walks into a bank and says hand over all your money, and one of the stupid cashiers says no, so the guy shoots her in the head." He laughed maniacally, then looked around at all the frightened, unsmiling faces. "Boy, tough crowd," he muttered. "Don't you get it? It's funny because it's true! But geez, if you didn't enjoy the joke, nobody wants it repeated, right? Maybe if I change the punchline. Let's start again – a guy walks into a bank and says hand over all your money…"
The cashiers understood and quickly began emptying out their registers. The bank's customers were being covered with guns by half the henchmen, while the other two rounded up the loot, leaving Harley free to her own devices. She watched Mr. J and the boys work for a while, then hopped up onto a counter and began filing her nails. She occasionally looked up at the scared mass of people before her – God, they were pathetic. Looking into their terrified, stupid, empty faces, she hated them. They were all so dense, going about their meaningless little lives like sheep. Doing what society expected them to do, like scared rabbits, never daring to break the mold. Morons. Utterly contemptible morons. She was glad they were afraid.
She looked down and noticed a little girl near the front of the line. Her parents were cowering over her protectively, but she didn't seem to be afraid – more bemused, as if she didn't really understand what was going on. There was something in her eyes that was different from the people around her, and Harley took an immediate interest. She liked kids anyway – she hoped to be a mother herself one day to a little Joker brood. She hopped down from the counter and came over to her.
"Watcha reading?" Harley asked, crouching down beside her and pointing to the book she held in her hand.
The little girl showed her. She wasn't at all afraid of the situation – Harley could have been one of her schoolfriends for all she cared. "Hey, that was one of my favorites when I was your age!" exclaimed Harley, beaming. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Harley," replied the girl.
"Aw, that's my name!" exclaimed Harley. "What a gag! Hey, Mr. J, come over here!" she called.
"Daddy's just a little busy right now, pooh bear!" he called back, holding a gun to the head of the employee opening the safe for him.
"Aw, but you'll get a kick out of it, puddin'," she replied. He growled but tossed the gun to Rocco and came over.
"See her?" said Harley, gesturing to the child. "She's reading my favorite book when I was her age, and her name's Harley! Ain't that a funny coincidence?"
Joker studied the child and grinned. "She even looks a bit like you, pooh," he said. "I bet you were just as cute a little angel when you were her age. How old are you, little Harley?"
"Six," she replied promptly.
"Six! My, you're getting big!" he exclaimed. "You're at school, right? You enjoying school?"
The girl shrugged. "I guess. It's nice to learn stuff, but I don't have a lot of friends."
"Friends? Who needs friends? Listen to me, kid," he said, taking her hand and pulling her away from her parents. "Take some advice from your Uncle Joker. In this world, you only need one thing. Respect. And you know how you get that? Through fear. By making people so afraid of you that they can't help but look at you in awe, like some kinda superhero. Y'know, like Batman. You know Batman, right?"
She shook her head. "Mommy and Daddy say he doesn't exist."
"Aw, they really are as stupid as they look, aren't they?" Joker laughed. "Everyone here is really hoping that Batman does exist, and that he's on his way to stop me. Frankly I couldn't care less either way. Because you know the only thing that matters to me? It's that people are afraid of me. And that I have fun, of course." He reached into his pocket. "You want some candy, kiddo?"
Harley gazed at him in adoration. He was so good with children. That was important in a man. She wondered if maybe they could take the kid with them, maybe adopt her or something. They would make better parents than the idiots raising her currently. And Harley could bring up little Harley in her image, open up the kid's eyes to what fun life could really be.
This fantasy was interrupted by Harley noticing what candy Joker handed to the child. She immediately rushed forward, grabbed it from the kid, and threw it across the bank. It exploded, blowing the wall out.
"That was the wrong candy, Mr. J," she said.
"No, it wasn't, Harley," he growled, suddenly seizing the child by the hair. "I was going to teach the kid a valuable lesson about talking to strangers. And her parents an equally valuable lesson about teaching their kids not to talk to strangers. It was going to be a good joke, but since you've ruined it, I'll just have to get to the punchline another way."
And he withdrew his gun, holding it to the child's head. Harley stared at him. "That ain't funny, Mr. J," she murmured.
"Don't presume to tell me what's funny, you stupid girl!" he shouted. "I'm the Joker, I tell the damn jokes, and this one is going to be an absolute blast!"
He laughed maniacally as his finger tightened on the trigger. Harley immediately seized the girl and ripped her away from him, standing in front of her protectively. "No, Mr. J," she said, firmly. "You ain't gonna hurt her. You can kill anyone you like in this joint, but not her."
Joker stared at her. "How dare you defy me, you little whore!" he shouted. "I oughtta break your face for this, you dumb bitch! You hand over the kid now, or it'll be your brains I blow out instead of hers!"
Harley nodded slowly. "Yeah. Ok, then."
She brought the girl back to the frantic embrace of her parents', and then approached Joker. She went right up to him so that the barrel of the gun touched her forehead.
"Go ahead, Mr. J," she murmured. "I always knew you'd do it someday. It's as good a day as any. And maybe this way I can prevent little Harley from growing up and making the same mistakes I did. Y'know, so she can see how loving the wrong kinda man ends. Might as well be a terrible warning if I can't be a good example, ain't that right, Mr. J?"
"You don't think I'm gonna do it?" growled Joker.
"Nah, I know you are, Mr. J," she replied. "Sooner or later, you'll kill me. Don't really make a difference to me whether it's sooner or later. And at least this way, it's for a good cause. So you go ahead, Mr. J. Pull the trigger. C'mon, baby. I've been waiting for it."
She saw her death in his eyes. She saw that shadow grow stronger and stronger, as his finger tightened on the trigger. At least it would be by his hand. She couldn't have asked for anything more. To die for him, by him…she couldn't think of any way she would have preferred it. After all, everyone had to die. That Mr. J had the honor of bringing about hers was beautiful, romantic really, when she thought about how happy it would make him. And she would be at peace, knowing she had made him happy, made him laugh. She shut her eyes and smiled serenely. She couldn't ask for anything more than that.
With a crash, the gun was suddenly knocked from Joker's hand as he was knocked to the ground by a black shape landing on him. Harley instantly recognized the Bat, and leapt to Joker's defense.
"Leave him alone, B-man!" she shrieked, seizing her hammer and clubbing Batman across the head. He fell backward, and Harley bent down. "You ok, puddin'?" she asked, helping him to his feet.
"Yeah," he growled, massaging the back of his head. "C'mon boys, let's move!"
The henchmen grabbed the loot and rushed out of the bank to the van. Joker started to follow them when Batman attacked him again. Harley subdued him agan with another hammer blow.
"C'mon," growled Joker, seizing her arm and running out the door. He threw her into the driver's seat and leapt into the front seat. "Drive," he snarled, folding his arms across his chest.
Harley obeyed, speeding off into the streets of Gotham. The Bat followed for a bit, but she managed to lose him the chaos of Gotham midday traffic. Joker didn't speak to her the whole drive. He didn't even look at her, just glared out the window.
They returned to the hideout, where Joker dismissed the henchmen with a word. Harley was expecting some kind of retribution for her rebellion, but he just looked at her disdainfully, then entered their room and slammed the door shut in her face.
Harly fought back tears as she returned to the now-empty common room. She tried to watch some TV, but she couldn't concentrate on anything when things like this happened, when things weren't right between her and Mr. J. It was like the whole world had suddenly been tiltled off center. Things were the same, but unnervingly different. She hated it.
The afternoon turned into evening. Joker did not emerge from the room, and Harley didn't move from the sofa. She stared at the TV without really seeing it, trying to focus on it and trying to keep unpleasant thoughts at bay. It wasn't working.
"Harley? You ok?"
That was Rocco. Harley wiped her eyes and turned to face him. "Sure. Never better, Roc. You know Mr. J and I have our bust-ups, but we always work things out. We will this time."
He nodded, sitting down next to her. "Must be kinda hard for you, Harley, all this emotional turmoil all the time," he murmured.
"Yeah, it is," she agreed. "But it's worth it, Roc. He's a great guy. And we've got something really special. I know people don't always see that, or get that, but…we love each other."
He nodded slowly. "Can't say I do get it, Harley. I mean, I've lived longer than you have, and been in love a couple times myself. But it wasn't ever like this. This is some kinda madness, it's unhealthy and dangerous and…"
"That's love, Roc," interrupted Harley. "It is pretty crazy sometimes. And sometimes I wish it weren't, sometimes I wish Mr. J and me were like all those couples in the movies or on TV, really loving and sweet. But we ain't. That don't mean we don't love each other. It's just different to everyone else's. Just like me and Mr. J are different to other people. Can't expect what we have to be the same as everyone else."
"He was going to kill you, Harley," murmured Rocco. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah," she replied. "I know that. I know he will someday. But that's fine. I wouldn't be able to live without him anyway. Better that he does it than someone else. Better that he has that right. That he owns my life so completely as to be able to take it away. Then I really will belong completely to him, see?"
"You could be so much more, Harley," he said, quietly.
"I don't wanna be more, Rocco," she replied. "Just the Joker's Harley Quinn. It may not sound like a lot to you, but it's everything to me."
Rocco shook his head. "Nah," he said, standing up and smiling at her, sadly. "It sounds like an awful lot to me, Harley. You want my room tonight? I'll sleep on the sofa."
She beamed at him. "You're sweet, Roc, but I'll be fine here. I'd prefer the noise of the TV. Y'know, to drown out the noise in my head."
Rocco nodded. "Let me know if you need any blankets or anything. Night, Harley."
"Night, Rocco," she said. He left the room and she returned to the TV, curling up on the sofa.
She must have dropped off into a light slumber, for she was suddenly awakened from it by the feeling of someone standing over her. Her eyes snapped open as a hand clapped over her mouth, and the weight of a body fell on top of her. She recognized Moe, eyes blazing fury and holding a knife to her face.
"Told you he wouldn't be there to protect you one day, you little whore," he growled. "And now I'm getting my five minutes alone with you, and we'll see if J or anyone else wants you after this. This is going to hurt, Harley, but you brought it on yourself, for being such a stupid bitch. I'll show you what kinda pain I can give you, baby, and I'll bet it'll rival J."
He licked her cheek as the point of knife danced along her face. Harley struggled, but his weight was immovable. He gradually slid the blade of the knife down from her face and began slicing through her suit, gently, so that the fabric was cut but her skin was barely broken. A thin stream of blood followed where the knife slid, down, down. Harley was panicking; she refused to let a mere henchman do this to her. She fought with all her strength, and began to hope she was making progress, for he had to slow in his cutting to keep his grip on her.
Suddenly, a shot rang out. Then several shots. Harley was covered in blood as she saw Moe being riddled with holes. His full weight fell on top of her as he dropped down, dead. Harley couldn't breathe, but she was rescued in an instant as the body was ripped off her, and she looked up into the blazing eyes of the Joker.
He was glaring in fury at the corpse, which he dropped to the ground and then kicked, firing more holes into it. His eyes then fixed on her. There was no worry in them, no concern for her welfare. He was still angry.
"Pain in the ass," he muttered, sheathing the gun and turning back to the body. "Guess I'll have to find myself another stooge. One who knows that nobody touches my stuff but me. Come to bed," he snapped, striding off.
She obeyed immediately, flicking off the TV and following him into their room. He went over to the bed and she headed for the bathroom, intending to remove her makeup and the blood that covered her.
"I said come to bed!" he shouted. She hurried over to him, and he struck her a harsh blow across the face. She fell back onto the bed, and he seized her around the throat, choking her.
"You do what I say exactly when I say it, do you understand?" he hissed. "Just like everyone else! What makes you think you're so damn special, huh, Harley? If one of the men had acted the way you acted today, I'd have blown their goddamn brains out! I should blow your goddamn brains out! You give me one good reason why I shouldn't just choke the life out of you right now, you ungrateful brat!"
Harley couldn't respond – she couldn't speak, she couldn't even breathe. "You're not special, Harley!" he continued. "I don't need you, I don't love you, and I don't care about you anymore than I care about anyone else! And you know how little I care about other people, right, Harl? You're as worthless to me as the dirt on my spats, you understand that? You get that through your thick, blonde skull? I don't love you, Harley Quinn! I would have shot you today if the Bat hadn't interfered, and I would have laughed as you lay dying! You hear me?! I would have laughed!"
He released her throat suddenly and she gasped, trying to recover her vision that had been almost overwhelmed in darkness. He seized her face in his hands. "Now you listen to me very carefully, you dumb bitch!" he hissed. "I will kill you someday, and sooner rather than later, if you're not careful. You just watch yourself. Once you stop being entertaining, I'll do with you what I always do when I get bored of toys. I break them. And God, you don't know how tempting it is to snap the life out of you right now."
His hands had wrapped around her throat once more, and tightened. But he suddenly let go and lay down, turning over with his back to her. "You think about what I've said. Goodnight, Harley."
Harley lay next to him, gasping and panting, trying to recover herself, trying not to cry too loudly. The tears flowed silently down her cheeks, but she slowly curled up and rolled over, so that she was facing his back. The silence was so oppressive.
"Mr. J?" she gasped at last.
"What?" he snapped.
"Y'know when you said you'd kill me one day?"
"Yeah?"
"How would you do that?"
He turned over slowly to face her. "How would I do that?" he repeated.
"Yeah," she murmured. "Describe it to me. Just so I know. Just so I can imagine it."
"Ah. So you can imagine it," he murmured, reaching out and fingering a lock of her hair. "Got quite an imagination, have you, Harl?"
"Not as good as you, puddin'," she murmured. "Go ahead. Tell me."
"Why don't you tell me how you'd like to have it done, you naughty girl?" he murmured, drawing closer to her.
"Mmm, because it's your sick, twisted imagination that turns me on," she murmured. "Because I want to know what you've been thinking about me, y'know, in that way. In that way that really gets you going. Tell me, puddin', please. Tell me what dark, disgusting, depraved things you've thought of doing to me. And what you'd use. Knives, guns, hands, what?"
"All those and more, baby," he whispered. "It ain't gonna be a pretty death, Harl. They'll barely be able to identify you. Your sweet little body will be broken and twisted completely out of shape. And your pretty little face will be maimed beyond all recognition. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you sick little bitch? You'd like me to do that to you."
"Yeah, I would, Mr. J," she whispered, sucking on his fingers as they stroked her hair. "C'mon, baby, tell me how they'll find me. And where? How much blood will there be?"
He chuckled, a deep, throaty chuckle. "You do enjoy your dirty talk, don't you, pumpkin?"
"Mmm hmm, just like you do, puddin'," she whispered. "But I think there's something we'd both enjoy even better."
"You've been a very naughty girl, Harley," he murmured. "You know what Daddy does to naughty little girls, don't you, baby? Daddy punishes them."
"Oh, Daddy, no," breathed Harley, in mock dread. "I didn't mean to do it, I promise. Please don't hurt me, Daddy."
"Shut up, Harley," he growled, and he shoved his mouth roughly upon hers, mauling her. This had been what she had been waiting for all day. The pay off, the climax of all the pain. These were the moments that made it all worthwhile, all the real torture and agony she went through, just to get to these moments of pure, blissful pleasure – the place beyond the pain. There was no getting there without going through the pain and suffering first, they were the path she had to travel to reach this garden of delight. It wasn't accessible through any other road. But here, here, in his arms, one with his body and mind, here was paradise. Here was the moment where everything was right, the moment that made everything better. This was what made life worth living. This was perfection. And it was worth dying for.
She lay in his arms afterward, indescribably happy, with the peaceful, sleepy feeling that comes after absolute joy. She cuddled against his chest. "Puddin'?" she murmured sleepily.
"Hmm?" he murmured, kissing the top of her head.
"Do you love me, baby?" she whispered.
"Course I do, Harley girl," he retorted, petting her. "I promised to kill you, didn't I? You can't ask for more proof than that."
"I guess not," she agreed. "You will keep your promise, won't you, Mr. J?"
"I'm a man of my word, pooh, you know that," he replied.
"And you'll kill me just the way you described?" she pressed. "Promise?"
"Don't call me a liar, kid, or next time you won't get anything," he growled. "Yeah, just like I told you. Doesn't that make you happy, baby?"
"Yeah," she agreed, snuggling into him. "I guess it does."
He had it all planned out. Every detail. Harley didn't need to worry about anything ever again. He would handle it. He would take care of her. He would keep her safe and protected, and he would even handle her death for her. What a guy. A girl couldn't ask for more than that.
She titled her face up to kiss him, a tender kiss that gradually grew more passionate. But he abruptly drew his mouth away. "What do you think I am, a machine?" he snapped. "Just go to sleep, you greedy brat! We have to be up early tomorrow – Batsy will be expecting us at this charity brunch. Tons of society billionaires raising money for orphans. Don't forget to wake me this time, or I'll beat you so hard you won't be able to walk for a week."
"Yes, puddin'," she whispered, snuggling against him and kissing him. "Night, baby."
He grunted, rolling over and shutting his eyes.
"I love you, Mr. J," she whispered.
He grunted again. It was fine. He didn't need to say it. She knew he loved her, and that was enough for her. That knowledge could help her bear anything. And the knowledge that she loved him, loved him completely. Because that's what it is to love someone completely, to love them even when they're beating you, hurting you, destroying you. It was crazy. And sometimes it hurt, and sometimes it was painful, and sometimes she wished she could live without it. But she couldn't. Because it made life worth living. And sometimes, just sometimes, it was perfect.
"It's been a good day, puddin'," she whispered, putting her arms around him and shutting her eyes. "Can't wait for tomorrow."