The pale man woke to the obnoxious sound of birds chirping outside his heavy curtains. Shouldn't they know better?
He felt under his sweat-drenched pillow for something to kill the feathered twits with, groaning over his achy muscles and pounding head. He felt like even a beating from Batman couldn't make him feel worse.
"Good morning, sunshine!" the familiar sing-song voice rang out from the doorway.
Oh, right. That.
He coughed in reply, finding neither the will nor energy to scream. The Joker and the flu did not mix.
"Aww, Puddin'." the blond woman crossed the floor of their bedroom and bent over the figure of the sick, notorious psychopath, "Aren't you any better?"
The Joker took a weak swing at his henchwoman, missing by a foot, "Go away."
"Poor Mr. J." she clucked at him, "Let me take your temperature. Is your fever worse?"
"Of course it is, you idiot." he coughed and groaned again, "Get me something cool for my head. I'm burning up here."
"Yes, sir." Harley Quinn put a sympathetic hand on his forehead, "I'll be right back, Puddin'."
With that she ran off for something to appease her bedridden clown prince.
Halfway through the day, the Joker wanted to smother himself with his own pillow. Not only had he failed to get out of bed three times, but he'd been forced to watch Cinderella on repeat for six hours. He wanted to murder Cinderella with her own shoe, feed Prince Charming to Bud and Lou, and step on those mice after the first half hour. Harley loved it.
"Harley!" the Joker's muffled voice came out from the center of his pillow, "Food!"
"Coming right up, Mr. J!" she called from the kitchen, humming as she ladled chicken noodle soup into a bowl.
Harley brought the soup, helping the green-haired man to sit up so he could eat it.
He stared at its contents.
"They're alphabet noodles." Harley pointed, "See? Look. J for Joker and H for Harley. You can spell our names, Puddin'. Fun, huh?"
The Joker set down the bowl and sighed. The only thing he wanted to spell would probably make her upset. Maybe later.
"I don't want this ridiculous concoction." he told her, "You could have at least gotten the Batman ones so I could stab him in the face."
"Oh, okay. Whatever you say, Mr. J. Cocoa?" Harley asked, holding up the mug shaped like a clown's head.
"Why not?" Joker knocked her hand, pouring the contents of the mug all over the front of her blouse, laughing, "Guess it's on you!"
"Right. Shoulda seen that one coming. Hehe." she laughed nervously, wiping at her shirt, "Real funny, boss." Good thing the beverage wasn't hot anymore.
His hysterical laughter turned into shaking coughs and his sudden light mood into talk of death.
"Agh, just call the Bat and give me up. Tell him he can finally do me in, once and for all. No tricks. No jokes. Just dead old Joker, beaten by influenza and a spandex-covered flying rat."
"Puddin", you okay?" Harley's tone turned worried, "You don't really want Batman to hurt you, do you?"
"Of course not, Harley-girl." Joker waved his hand at her as if dismissing a child, "I'm just a bit crazy. That's nothing new. Get me some cyanide, would you, dear?"
"O-okay, Mr. J." she backed out of the room, "Sure thing."
Joker ignored the door shutting as he began humming the tune of a jack-in-the-box, staring at the swirls on the ceiling.
"Oh, he's gettin' delirious." Harley Quinn said to herself once she'd left the room, "Think, Harley. Oh, man. You'd think a girl like me would be used to this."
She proceeded to pace in the kitchen for a while, wracking her brain for a way to take care of her crazier-than-usual, poor Mr. J.
About an hour later, it was dark and Joker was in the middle of a fever-induced dream about the Boy Wonder and Batsy as incredibly strange-looking birds fighting over a Joker-inspired worm. He hadn't a clue what that was supposed to mean.
He was forced awake by the creak of the door opening and a terrifyingly familiar shadow slowly approaching his bed.
Just great. Harley had followed what he said earlier. He was about to die.
The sick Joker decided trying to fight wasn't going to work. Instead he wished for his body to sink into the bed, his form to blend into the sheets, anything to avoid the figure now looming over him.
"Joker." the masked man looked at his pitiful nemesis.
"Uh, hi, Batsy." Joker tried to avoid pulling the sheets over his head and screaming for Harley, "What brings you here?"
Apparently, the flu had taken all his confidence in fighting the Bat, as well as his bravery and cunning.
He felt like smacking himself when he flinched as Batman reached into his utility belt.
"I'll put you in prison later." Batman set a bottle of medicine on the nightstand and turned to leave, "Until then."
Then, he was gone.
It took a moment for the Joker to realize what had just happened, "Harley!"
"Yes, Mr. J?" Harley Quinn nervously peeked in, looking guilty.
She was holding a cardboard-cut bat and a high-powered flashlight.
"Baby, you're the greatest!" he held out his arms.
It was probably the fever talking.
"Puddin'!" she jumped on the bed and cuddled up next to her crazy sweetheart.
"That was insane and brilliant!" he patted her on the head, "We'll have to try it again!"
"I love you, Mr. J." Harley kissed him on the cheek.
"You too, Pumpkin Pie." Joker answered, reaching for the bottle.
Harley Quinn beamed. She'd have to get him sick again some time.