Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, BTAS or any of the characters therein. Please don't sue me.

I love this couple, and this is my first foray into the twisted world of Joker and Harley. They're a difficult couple to nail and no doubt my take on them will change in the future. Still I had fun writing this fic. Enjoy! And please review Reviews make me happy.

Little Things

Dear Red

Thanks for letting me stay again last night, but I can't stay for breakfast. It's mine and Mistah J's anniversary today, and I wanna cook him breakfast in bed. See, I never have to find out whether or not he remembers if I wake him up with breakfast in bed! Okay, so he'd never remember…. That sort of thing just isn't important to him, ya know?

But I know you'll just use it as one more piece of evidence that he doesn't love me. I ask ya, Red, how many men forget their anniversaries?

Well, you ask me how I could love him, every time he kicks me out or throws me against a wall. You look at me as if I'm mad every time I pack my things to run back to him. Well, we know I'm mad. He's mad. You're mad. But still…

You've asked me so many times, Red, that I'm gonna tell ya. I think it's time I tried to explain what I see in my Puddin'. You've asked me so many times, but I can never find the words to explain it out loud, so I'll try on paper. See, you know I love Mistah J. I love him with all my heart and soul. An' I know he mistreats me. I know most normal relationships don't contain things like black eyes. But you gotta understand, Red: that doesn't matter to me.

Ya see, I'm not just his girlfriend. He's my boss. And as my boss, he can punish me if I screw up. Yeah, it's not really a good idea to dip your pen in the company ink, but Mistah J keeps his home and work lives separate. Sorta. Most of the time, anyway……

-

She's in their en suite, or at least what she likes to think of as their en suite, feeling particularly sorry for herself and nursing a large bruise on her left cheek. Her hair is wet from the ice pack, tumbled about a face smudged with makeup and darkened a vicious purple. She could swear that he'd broken the bone this time, as much as it hurts, and she holds her makeshift ice pack to her cheek for fifteen minutes, leaves it off for fifteen, reapplies it. In this wise she passes a full hour before he appears at the doorway.

"So, Harlz, still moping over that smack I gave you?" There's cruelty in his voice, a sort of pleased mocking that suggests that she deserved what she got and is making a big deal out of it.

She doesn't reply, merely shoots him a look full of hate.

The Joker lazes against the door frame, rather pleased with himself after a day's successful plotting. Soon there would be another Joker-themed crime plaguing Gotham, and he is particularly proud of this one.

"Well? Don't you want to come give daddy a hug? C'mon, Harley, I did great today! I deserve a little… reward."

She lets out an ironic bark of laughter. "Yeah, sure! Hey, why don'cha hit me again? It made ya happy earlier! Or isn't it as much fun when sex is involved?"

He stares at her, and something dark and unpleasant settles on his chest.

When he doesn't reply, she looks up, eyes haunted. He looks… confused. Shocked. Even – she laughs a little in her head – hurt! In retaliation she fixes him with the look of a beaten lover: hurt, betrayed, with an undercurrent of fear.

"Well?" She removes the ice pack, stands up, and presents her bruised cheek to him. Her voice is dry, and steadier than she had dared hope: "Make it a good one, Mistah J."

She closes her eyes, steadies herself for a strong blow that the Joker's lean frame belies.

Instead, her bruised cheek is bestowed a soft kiss.

She opens her eyes, amazed by this action from a man she associates with violence, especially today.

"I… I don't understand! Mistah J…"

The strange look leaves his face and he rolls his eyes, as if having to explain something she should have known. "Look, Harley, I know we haven't been together long, but you should know I keep my work and play separate."

"But I thought…"

"When I'm at work, then you're my henchman – henchwoman – and I'll treat you like any other person who'd qualify to be my right hand. That means if you slip up, or say something stupid, I'm going to throw you off the balcony."

Harley ducks her head, hiding a small smile. She'd seen him do this to one or two people who had said something uncommonly moronic in his presence, and can't deny that it is his nature to punish those who displease him.

His hand clasps her chin, forcing her head up to meet his eyes.

"But when I'm done with work, you're not my henchman anymore." His eyes begin to sparkle again with that mirth and lust that drive her wild. "You're my girlfriend, and I would never hit my girlfriend!" He stops, looks off to the side as if he has just remembered something, and continues sheepishly, "well… not hard, anyway. Not as a matter of course. Not on purpose. Well, I wouldn't hit you, Harley." He pauses, purses his lips slightly. "Alright? Work and play are separate."

She grins at him. "Okay."

He grins back, and no one living can grin like the Joker. "So, I see that slavedriving boss of yours punched you today." He slips an arm around her waist, brushing wet hair out of her face. When her eyes meet his, the weight on his chest lifts.

"Yeah, but I kinda deserved it. And you shouldn't call him a slavedriver, he's very good to me, and I do love him really."

"Ha! Good thing I'm not the jealous type."

Work and play were separate. Well, separate enough. And that would have to do.

-

……I know people say that he just keeps me around because I do everything for 'im, because I'll iron his socks and beat up Robin and still have the energy for a shag before bed. I know people think he just takes advantage of me, but…

That night I broke him out of Arkham is a night I'll never forget. No one expected me to survive. I'm not stupid, Red. Doctor, remember? I read all his files. I worked with people who saw him as death on legs, complete with a repertoire of jokes they didn't get. The Joker thinks only of himself. The Joker's a madman. What does the Joker know about gratitude, anyway? Whoever breaks him out has gotta be mad, he'll just kill them and throw them away as if nothing had ever happened.

But he didn't. He does know what gratitude is. Sure, he never thanks me when I steal something for him, or fix his tie, but I'm still here, ain't I? He comes to get me if I stay away too long. He misses me, when I'm not around to help him out. (I know you'll say he just wants to be able to find his socks, but you never liked him, Red.)

I can hear your voice in my ear – yeah, and B-man's voice, too. You're telling me that it's a con. He doesn't love me. All those little things? All those stories he tells? None of it's real, just a way to have me crawling back. But he wants me back. It's something to be wanted, Red, and I know you don't care about that sort of thing… but you do, kinda, because your plants want you around. If they didn't want you there, you'd feel pretty bad, right? Yeah… It's good to be wanted. And as far as stories go… I know that sob-story he told me about his family wasn't true. I know because I asked him, and he said it wasn't……

-

"Hey, uh… Mistah J? Something's… been bothering me about… well, that story you told me about your father, and stuff, was that a lie?"

He frowns at her, and despite the grin permanently affixed to his lips, his frowns are generally pretty fearsome.

"Does that matter, Harley? I'm busy." He's not busy, not really, but his mind is on Batman again and when he starts thinking of the Bat, that's all he can think of. Damn obsessive mind.

She shifts, pulling away from where she had been lying snug against him. She props her head up on her arm, blond hair trailing down across pale flesh in a way that almost makes him smile again.

There is one thing that could distract him from Batman, after all… Harley tries too hard, sometimes, with her skimpy negligees and stockings. The moments he is truly captivated by her are moments like these, the unguarded moments, the ones when she's just being her. Her brows are pulled together in something approaching concern, but her lips are in full pout mode. Oh, lord, she wasn't going to let up on this one, was she?

"Aw, c'mon, Puddin'. Please? I know it's not important to you, but I really wanna know…"

"Oh, all right. See, it wasn't really a lie. I can't remember much from when I was a kid. For all I know, my dad really did beat me senseless. It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Then why did you say it, if it wasn't true?"

He rolls his eyes, and stretches out his legs as he tries to formulate an answer.

"Well, I… Would you have broken me out, if I hadn't?"

Her expression does not change. "Of course, Mistah J!"

He raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

She smirks at him, a bit of her natural goofiness reanimating her features. "You think the only reason I fell in love with you was because you told me a sob story about your childhood?"

"Well, I…"

"I mean, ya caught me off guard and all, but I loved you anyway!"

He grins then, a full Joker-brand grin, and tickles her bare tummy with one hand. "Because I made you laugh, huh?"

She giggles. "Yeah! And you sent me those messages and roses. I used to get a little thrill every time I found one!" She sighs, collapsing onto her back and gazing into space. "It was like some secret love affair, with the knight sending his beloved love notes behind her cruel husband's back!"

The Joker arches one green brow. "Hmm. I thought the knight was supposed to rescue the maiden from the tower, not the other way around."

Harley giggles again, at the serious look on his face. Then her own expression grows more serious.

"So… why'd you tell me that story?"

He shrugs. "I was feeling morose that day. I was going to make something up regardless, because I always do. Why not that? Would it have made much of a difference if I told you my pop was the model father?"

"Is that true?"

He laughs. "Could be. As much as the first story anyway. It's all a bit fuzzy, to tell the truth. Does it matter?"

She looks back into his eyes, dancing with mirth and that childish badness that comes from having a devil on each shoulder, and she shivers slightly. In this moment, does it matter?

She smiles. "No."

-

……He said it wasn't true, and you know what? It doesn't matter. What he told Harleen Quinzell would be written down. It was foolish of me to think that he'd tell a shrink the truth. I know that now… I wasn't thinking. You don't think, much, when you're falling in love.

I know you're cleverer than me, Red. Sure, I'm a doctor, but you lose some faith in your smarts when it turns out most of the stuff you learnt in Shrink School was wrong. My Puddin's not as mad as he seems. Well… okay, so he is as mad as he seems. Madder, probably. But he's clever, too. It's all about the joke to him, and some of the stuff he comes up with I'd never have thought of in a million years. So, he's a little obsessive… so am I! I admit that sometimes I wish he was as obsessed with me as he is with Batman, or coming up with the next big gig. As obsessed as I am with him. But, his realm is laughs, mine is crazy people, and Mistah J is as crazy as they come! So I guess it's only to be expected. Of course I love him.

So, why do I love Mistah J? You could ask a million women why they loved their husbands, and they'd probably give you a list of things they love about their man. They never tell you why, and that's because they don't know. There's just something between them, something that picks them up and then they're soaring, amazed, and they don't know what's happened… and then they're dropped, down, and they see what it's like if they lost them, and then, well, it's all about them. What would my Puddin' be like if he forgot how to laugh? That's what I'd be like, without him.

So, I don't know why I love Mistah J. I know why I was so interested in him to begin with, and I know what I love about him, but I don't know what it was that made me pause outside his cell that first time I saw him, or what drove me so relentlessly to convince the senior shrinks to let me interview him. I don't know why it'd hurt so much to lose him. A part of me says that of course I can survive without him. The rest of me asks what'd be the point? The laughter would be gone.

See, he was never my patient. I was always his. Because I was sick, Red. I'd forgotten how to have fun. And he reminded me……

-

It's a week since she broke him out of Arkham and she's wondering for the billionth time why she did it. He keeps staring at her with a quizzical look on his face, as if he's not quite sure either and doesn't know what to make of it.

She plays with her Harlequin cap, miserable, worrying over what she's done and what she's hoping to accomplish now. He's the Joker. What would he want with her?

He shifts gingerly on the old mattress. He'd dimly recognized the old warehouse as one he'd hidden in before, and a week on one of the old mattresses he'd dragged in jogged his memory considerably. This time he has less money and more injuries. However, this time he also has a Dr. Harleen Quinzell.

No, not anymore…

"Harley…"

She looks up, and he can see red around her eyes. She's been crying, but no tears have streaked her cheeks. That means she's been crying, but trying not to. Brave girl, really, to break the Joker out of Arkham and then hang around. He could kill her in a moment, even injured as he is.

"Y-yes, Puddin'?" Her voice is quavering between the normal voice of Dr Quinzell and the laid-back, slightly crazy voice of Harley Quinn.

"Why are you still here?" He knows the answer – she loves him – but there is another reason for asking.

She watches him a moment, warily. The Joker grudgingly notches up another couple of points in her favour; smart people are wary of him at the best of times.

"Because… because I love you." Her eyes drop back down to that Harlequin cap. "I know that I've got nothing to go back to, but I don't have to stay with you. You've healed enough to look after yourself. I stole this stuff and broke you out of Arkham, so I can probably pull off the small-time thief thing well enough to stay alive. But… I don't want to. I like being around you. Even if you don't want me around you… I'll still stay as long as you'll let me."

He watches her silently for a long time. She resolutely keeps her eyes lowered. Her blond hair falls haphazardly over her shoulders, a sight that makes the Joker sigh internally in relief. He has always wanted to rip the ties from her hair – hair that has always been tied back so sharply, so… restrained. Like her. And now… release! Release that she experienced that night she broke him out. The night she broke them both out.

He pulls himself into a sitting position fairly easily, and with only minor twinges he moves to the edge of the mattress, close to her.

"I wasn't the only one trapped in Arkham Asylum," he says confidently.

She looks up, her expression a mix of confusion and… what is that? Hope?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you!" He jabs a finger towards her. "They shut you away in there just the same as they did me, made you dance their dance and obey their rules, instead of running free like you always wanted!"

She stares at him wistfully, and it occurs to her that he can see a person's soul better than she ever could, with all her years of training.

He's gesturing extravagantly now, explaining her years of servitude and slavery at the foot of the dictator called Society.

"… pulled you back, tied you up, forced you onto that treadmill! I could see it in you the first time you stood outside my cell: unlike all those other drones, you're alive, Harley! There's a fire in your eyes. They almost put it out, but I knew you could burn again when I made you laugh in therapy."

She smiles softly as she recalls the session. "Yeah… I love it when you make me laugh."

That's it, what he's been waiting for, what he's been trying to pretend he hasn't been hoping for. It's obvious she's in love with him, he's known it since he flung that sob-story at her that day in therapy. It's obvious that he can make her laugh (he likes to think that he can make anyone laugh, and making the frozen Batman laugh will be his magnum opus). What he's been waiting for is for her to admit that most important of things: that she enjoys it when he makes her laugh. Even those members of the public who laugh freely at the Joker's gags would never, ever admit that they enjoy it when he makes them laugh. She said it so easily, and he savours it.

Something about remembering that day in therapy has stirred something in her, and she rises from her position on the floor, gesturing for him to lie down. He still aches in places – his arm is broken, as well as a couple of ribs, and they will take some time to heal – and she is a doctor, after all, so he complies. She checks his bandages, enquires as to whether he needs anything, and when he indicates the negative, she lies down beside him and rests her head on his shoulder.

He is taken aback – stunned, even. This is something he would never have expected from Harleen Quinzell. But of course, he keeps forgetting… She is not Harleen any longer. Harley has more spirit, Harley broke him out of Arkham, Harley is straightforward enough to call him Puddin', so why wouldn't she lie down with him? She hadn't done it before, but perhaps something happened, and now she trusts him that little bit more.

"Harley, why are you lying on the same mattress as me? There are others, you know."

She doesn't open her eyes, merely snuggles in closer and pulls the threadbare blanket tight about them. "It's cold tonight, Mistah J. This way we're warmer."

And that was it. If it was anyone else, he might have killed them right there for such a flimsy excuse. But somehow, from her, it seemed genuine. She did choose to sleep here because she was cold. And it just didn't occur to her that he might not want her to do so.

Brave, spontaneous, fiery, cheerful, clever, and with a sense of humour – not to mention, of course, drop dead gorgeous. Hmm. Who knew pulling on a shrink's heartstrings could lead to this? All he had wanted to begin with was to get to know her a little better, see if he could get her to open up and to drop her guard long enough so that he could escape. And then he'd heard her laugh, and wanted to hear it again. Then he'd seen her eyes light up every time he entered the room for a session. Then… well, then she's gone and knocked out some guards, blown up the asylum, staged a daring rescue, and fuckin' broken him out of Arkham! He'd half thought it was a dream, the first couple of days. She's certainly more than he'd bargained for…

Well, he is in the market for a new lot of hench-people. And it would be terribly ungrateful to just kill her and abandon her after she went to all that trouble to get him out and nurse his wounds. Besides… if he left her, he'd never get to hear that laugh of hers again. (And know he made her laugh. And know she loved it when he did. And know she loved him. And…)

Something stirs – the same thing that had stirred the first time he saw the fire behind her eyes, and stirred again, stronger, the first time he heard her laugh. This time, it's stronger than it ever has been before. It frightens him, as much as the Joker can be frightened. He doesn't know what it is, only that it's powerful, and that she causes it.

She's sleeping now, her breathing soft, her eyelids flickering slightly. She looks like one of those sweet blonde girls who have never had a problem in their lives, one of the ones who exude innocence. One of those girls the Joker simply hates

But he doesn't hate her, and he can't pretend he does.

Well. Maybe having a drop-dead gorgeous blonde acrobatic henchwoman could work in his favour. At the very least, she'd provide him with something good to look at. That Harlequin outfit really suits her.

He snakes his good arm around her shoulder and pulls her a little closer.

"That's my girl."

-

……It's the little things, Red. The things that no one else notices. The things he does when he thinks no one's listening, including me. The little notes that say only a few words – I've kept 'em all. It's the single red roses that he leaves when he's feeling really sorry about something, or he wants to cheer me up. It's the fact that I can sit on his lap in front of all the top villains and he acts as if it's the most normal thing in the world. It's the way he's proud to have me and shows me off in front of the others – I don't care if he is just parading me around like a trophy wife, I can still see the pride in his eyes, and it's not just the pride of owning something pretty.

He never says 'I love you'. Like so many other things, it's not something Mistah J feels needs to be said. If he thinks something's obvious or common knowledge, he won't say it. He'll assume you already know. It's like explaining a joke, I guess. If you have to explain a joke, it's a bad joke. If he has to explain how he feels about something, or someone, then he's not doing a very good job of showing it. He never has to tell anyone when he's angry. It's obvious when he's angry (and he's scary when he's angry!). He never has to tell Batman that he hates him. And he never has to tell me that he loves me. Becauseif he did, it'd mean he wasn't doing a good job of letting me know in other ways.

And he does, Red. From the little notes he leaves when he's smacked me up bad the day before and he's feeling sorry that I'm hurting, to the little looks he gives me when we're alone, to the little things he does to make me smile… I know he loves me. And those are the reasons I love him back. The little things, Red. Those make a relationship.

Anyway… thanks for lettin' me stay. I'll no doubt be back again before long! But you know he doesn't mean it, really. I wish you could see what I mean. Anyway, we're still on for coffee and laughing at soap operas on Sunday, right? See you then!

Lots of love,

Harley xoxox

-

He's waiting outside for her, leaning against the car door with a show of impatience.

"You took your time!"

Her eyes light up when she sees him – his appearance is unexpected to say the least.

Did he really remember?

Harley grins at him, explaining in a meek voice, "I was writing Red a letter thanking her for letting me stay… and telling her why I was leaving early." She blushes slightly under her white make-up. "I, uh, kinda told her why you mean so much to me. Maybe this time Red will finally get what I see in you, Mistah J!"

He rolls his eyes. "I doubt it."

She kisses him on the cheek in greeting, and he doesn't acknowledge it, as usual. She moves to the other side of the car, hopping over the door and settling into her seat. Only after she has slung her bag behind her to the back seat does she notice the note stuck to the dashboard.

The Joker slips into his own seat, buckling up – safety first – and looking over at her, watching her face as she reads the note.

Hope you enjoyed your sleepover.

- J.

The look on her face makes up for how annoyed he'd been with her the day before. As it is every time this happens, all is forgotten. The Joker always starts afresh, and he expects everyone else to know this automatically.

Harley tucks the note down her bra for safe-keeping and sniffs the accompanying rose.

"You know, Puddin', any other woman would hold this stuff against you." She leans over, resting her cheek against his shoulder as he drives. "It's a good thing I know you so well."

The Joker attempts a glare in her direction. "It's a good thing I tolerate you so well. If you were anyone else I wouldn't be taking you back every time."

She smiles, and his own lips twitch upwards in response. He always forgets how good she can make him feel when he lets her.

"Harley?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me 'Puddin''".