Disclaimer: I don't own the Joker or Harley. Those little gems belong to DC.


The room is dark and quiet other than the quiet sound of the sitcom on the television; the dark colors emitting from its screen provides little light. The window is open slightly, the moonlight casting a pool of white on the dusty wooden floor. A young woman with blonde hair sits partially in the light, revealing a tear-streaked face and a bloodied lip. There is a dead rose in her lap, the rotting petals almost black. She strokes one of them, and it falls to the ground soundlessly. She raises her hand up to her lip, smearing the crimson across her pale skin. Her foot moves, moving an object that is lying in the dark. She picks it up, and the laughing face of a joker card stares up at her. A teardrop falls onto it, slowly rolling off of its edge to accompany the forgotten rose pedal. She strokes the smooth surface of the card, her red and black painted fingernails resting on the laughing boy's face.

"And if suddenly you see my blood staining the stones of the street, laugh…" she whispers as the card slips between her shaking fingers.

A door creaks open behind her but she remains motionless, staring at the floor as if it holds the key to life. Slow footsteps slink across the floorboards, making them creak slightly. She feels strong hands grip her shoulders tightly.

"C'mon, Harl…" a deep voice drawls, raising goosebumps on her arms. "I was just jok-ing. Don't get mad at me because you don't get it."

She feels him smiling. Well, technically he's always smiling, but this one is natural. She knows that he has that smirk on his face; the smirk that makes her feel like he's laughing at her. And he is. She reluctantly slides her hands up to touch his. Their fingers intertwine, and she shivers as her cold fingers meet his feverish ones. He squeezes her hand so hard that she winces and he chuckles darkly. He releases his grip on her fingers and walks back to the doorway from which he came. Turning sharply, he looks at her. Even in the dark his gaze bores into her skull.

"Well? Are you coming back, my little Haaarley Quinn?" She can even hear the grin in his tone. Her shoulders slump in defeat. She could never resist him. Even when she feels so beaten down by him, she could never even fathom leaving him. He slams the door behind her, and they lay back down in the bed. The disheveled sheets and pillows are the only signs that reveal they were fighting.

She closes her eyes, turning away from his grinning face. He clenches and unclenches his fists, wanting to throttle whatever feeling that is stirring inside his chest. He wasn't supposed to feel; especially not for another person. That was the joke. She made him feel, and he hated her for it. So she would pay; physically and emotionally. He strokes her hair.

"My little Har-ley Quinn. The chaos in my dreams."

He cackles loudly for a few minutes. When he lapses into silence, her ears are still ringing with the sound. That's how it was with him; even when he isn't there, she can still see him, hear him, feel him. His presence never left her alone, and she knows it never will.


Author's Note: Okay, this is my first fanfiction in a long, long time. It's also my first try at writing the Joker. If he seems a tad too sensitive, sorry about that. My thoughts were just kind of flowing. So if I made him look like a total loser, feel free to tell me so. Also, I got the name of this fic from the song A Day Like Today by Tom McRae. It fits the Joker and Harley perfectly, in my opinion. And when Harley says, "And if suddenly you see my blood staining the stones of the street, laugh..." It's actually from a poem called Your Laughter by Pablo Neruda. If you liked it, please tell me. If you think I can do way better, tell me. If you think I am on drugs because it was that bad, please, feel free to tell me. My ego can take it. I think. :)