His hand flat on the small of her back, he guides her to one of the seats nestled in the corner of the room. "Sit" he commands her, giving her a gentle shove. She obliges, arching back to look at him with a mischievous smile on her face, one chipped nail twirling a lock of hair.
"Behave."
She pouts moodily and sighs but is otherwise still. Satisfied, he turns to face the small man standing behind him. "Are we set?" he asks.
The tattoo on the smaller man's lip twitches as he speaks. "Yeh boss. Hendersy just called. Said the drop off will be at 6 on the docks".
"And your men, Pablo?"
"In place, boss. Red is leadin' 'em. He'll knows what's up".
The Joker allows himself a moment of satisfaction - a job well organised, an easy task without a hitch. The snatch is in the preparation, and god damn it, he's prepared.
"Puuuddin'" Harley's voice whines. He catches Pablo's eyes twitching over his shoulder to look at her. "I'm booored." The smug feeling immediately vanishes to be replaced by a wave of hot anger that courses through his stomach. He takes a deep breath as he turns and speaks through gritted teeth.
"I have business, Harley. Now be a good girl and shut your trap".
"But-" she begins, and just as he's turning back to Pablo he rounds on her, eyes alight with fury. She shrinks back into the seat away from him as he places one arm either side of her head, leaning so close that his breath is hot on her cheek.
"Baby", he says quietly into her ear, too quiet for his henchman to hear. "I will personally see to it that you are hung upside down by your thumbs for the next week if you do not stop misbehaving." She's frozen by his words, his voice, his scent; as always.
"Do I make myself clear?"
She nods, her eyes cast downward like a scolded child. He runs one long finger down her cheek, his touch lighting a trail of fire on her skin. She bites down the incessant need to lean into him, to reach her arms around him, to close that electric gap between their bodies. Almost, she feels him warming to her, but a nervous cough from behind them makes him stiffen again.
"Boss?" Pablo's voice comes, "we should head". The Joker is away from her immediately, leaving an empty void in the air in front of her. She watches as he glances at the watch on his wrist, Pablo in turn nervously looking at him and then down at the phone gripped tightly in his hand.
"Very well", the Joker says softly. He moves over to where his jacket lies draped across a bar stool and shrugs it on. "Stan!" he calls loudly into the gloom.
Almost immediately, a a light is turned on in the backroom and a portly man appears from a previously unseen door. Harley takes him in, eyeing the flush on his cheeks, his podgy fingers twisting nervously in the creased ends of his shirt. The Joker spares him only a glance, although it's still enough to cause the bartender to flinch away.
"Get the girl a drink" he commands. "Whisky". Stan nods.
"Boss?" Pablo says again, his hand already against the door and his phone pressed to his ear, receiving instructions from someone on the other end of the line.
"Yes, yes" the Joker snaps impatiently but turns back to Harley anyway. "One drink" he says to her, holding up his index finger "I mean it".
She almost giggles but bites it down, knowing how it can annoy him when he's being all serious and work-like. Instead she settles on a nod and a smile, the best one she can muster. The Joker's face is impassive, but she imagines that his lip quirks ever so slightly upwards before he looks away from her and moves to the doorway. Pablo is still murmuring nervously into the phone and on seeing the Joker, he jabs a finger to end the call and pushes open the door, bright sunlight spilling into the bar.
The Joker doesn't look back as he exists, but he does stop momentarily at the bar where Stan is uncapping a bottle of Crown Royal. "One drink for the girl. See that she stays put" he orders, rapping a knuckle against the wood.
"Yes'sir". The words stumble out in a panic and the bartender doesn't meet the Joker's eyes.
Harley watches as the Joker's figure becomes silhouetted in the open door and then he's gone, the door closing shut and plunging the room back into its semi-darkness. Only when she hears the distant rumble of a car engine in the parking lot does she stand and make her way over to the bar where Stan is still anxiously pottering around.
Harley perches herself on a bar stool, resting a bare elbow against the wood and crossing one pale leg over the other. She settled her chin onto her palm, gazing up at the man through long eyelashes. He glances at her and immediately drops the glass tumbler.
"Shoot" he mutters, bending over with effort and when he stands Harley can see that his cheeks are now even more flushed. She doesn't say anything when finally he puts the whiskey down in front of her, but her eyes never leave his as she raises it to her lips and downs the liquid inside in one smooth shot. She places the glass back in front of him and when he makes no move toward it, she gives it a gentle nudge towards him.
His face twists with anxiety. "The boss said-" he begins but stops when Harley leans forward across the bar and rests her finger against his lips.
"What Mr J doesn't know won't hurt him" she says softly. She can see Stan's eyes widen in response and she pulls her finger down, his lower lip smacking as she drags it away. Harley can see the torment in Stan's eyes at defying him, but she's bored and this is all just a game to her. Slowly, sensually, she inserts the finger that has just been on Stan's lips into her mouth and onto her waiting tongue. His cheeks turn a delightful shade of purple and he grunts as her lips encircle the finger still in her mouth.
She smiles at him innocently and she watches intently as his face shifts from fright and anxiety to desire. His eyes momentarily flick to her cleavage and she knows then that she has him.
"So?" she purrs, nudging the glass again.
"Well…" He's back to looking nervous but once again those eyes of his flick downwards and then towards the door from which the Joker has left, and finally he seems to have made up his mind. "Ok. Ok". He takes down the bottle of whiskey and pours her another. She gives him a girlish smile and, once again, swigs the whole thing back in one go.
He whistles appreciatively, his nervousness seeming to fade. "Ain't never met a girl that likes her whisky as much as you, hon".
Harley giggles. "You ain't never met anybody like me before".
Stan can't tear his eyes away from her and she uses it to her full advantage, the game now in full swing. "Another?" she asks, motioning to the empty glass with her eyes.
"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, this stuff is strong" he says, gesturing to the bottle.
"Well" she says, looking thoughtful for a moment. "I guess if it's too strong for me, I'll have a big strong man to protect me. Right?" She looks up at him from under her eyelashes. His back straightens and he nods once, truly snared. More whiskey fills the tumbler and this time she sips it, but gestures for him to put down the bottle on the bar in easy reach. He complies, his eyes drinking her in all the while.
Harley spins on the barstool so that she sits at an angle to the bar, and Stan watches hungrily as she arches backwards, exposing her naval and cleavage to him even further. She glances at him, smirks and then closes her eyes, letting him look at her. His eyes wander down her torso to her slender fish netted legs and she can almost feel the desire coming off him in waves.
A phone rings somewhere in the back room and she cracks open one eye to look at him. When he doesn't move she grins at him. "You gonna get that?"
He seems hesitant and she delights in knowing that at this moment in time, this man would do anything, be anything, she wants him to be. She raises an eyebrow and he sighs. "I guess".
As he enters the back room, Harley looks around the dim bar and then pours herself another drink. She's still sitting there daydreaming when the front door bangs open again. Her heart gives a furious beat thinking that he has returned, but when she opens her eyes it's just a couple of local men in their standard small town blue wash jeans and flannel shirts. One of them immediately spots her and nudges his friend.
Harley gives them both a small wave, eyeing them over the rim of the tumbler. The game has just grown, and she loves it.
The men make their way over to her, one taking a stool next to her and the other standing. Unlike Stan, they didn't know who she is, who she belongs to, and they openly stare at her legs, her breasts, her face.
"Damn, girl." says the taller of the two breathlessly. "You are one fine specimen". The other man nods furiously, grinning widely.
Harley giggles and twists a finger into her hair. "You think so?" she asks innocently.
"I know so" says the man confidently. He winks at her. "Let me buy you a drink". He looks around impatiently. "Where's that fat bastard got too?" he murmurs under his breath just as Stan hurries from the office. Harley almost feels sorry for him when he notices the two other men in the bar and disappointment clouds his face.
"Stan you dog" says the smaller of the men. "Why didn't you tell us you were hiding this angel?"
Stan shrugs and mutters something unintelligible, squeezing behind the bar to pull two pints. Harley smiles brightly at him and sips at the last of the whiskey in the tumbler and then pours herself a fresh glass.
"Woah Joe, look at this one go!" the tall man next to her hits his friend with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with excitement and laughter bubbling from his throat.
"On the pull are we, darl?"
She smiles sweetly but doesn't say anything apart from to take another sip of her drink.
The one named Joe raises an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a yes" he laughs and Harley doesn't correct him.
The three talk as the afternoon stretches into evening, Stan hovering anxiously nearby, eager to somehow get Harley's ear again. Harley laughs at their jokes, smiles and pouts, occasionally resting a hand on one of the men's thigh and delighting in their reaction as she touches them, feigning innocence as her fingers brush too close to their laps to be accidental. Stan hovers, uncertain.
As the light spilling in from the occasionally opened door darkens, more people enter the bar and despite another bartender starting their shift, Stan's attention is drawn away from her as the customer numbers grow and the music becomes louder. She notices him regularly looking back at her though, his face pained, and she almost feels sorry for him for thinking that he might have ever had a chance with her.
All evening, Harley draws them in like flotsam caught in the wake of a sailboat. They crowd round her, some approaching her with confidence, others timidly. Occasionally she spots a wife or a girlfriend glaring at her through the throng, their eyes always narrowed and their lips pinched together. She pays them no heed though; nothing can touch her. She is Queen.
Finally, after hours of outrageous flirting, she slips off her barstool. "Need to use the ladies" she hiccups in explanation, sensing the palpable disappointment of the man whose finally plucked up the courage to sidle up next to her.
The women's bathroom is empty as she lurches inside and relives herself. The room is spinning dangerously and she briefly wonders what he will say when he finds out she disobeyed him, but she laughs when she realises that right now, in this moment. She doesn't care. She's having fun. She's Harley Quinn - it's what she does. And it's time to ramp it up.
She checks herself over in the mirror briefly as she leaves the cubicle, tightening her pigtails and re-applying her lipstick. A woman walks in behind her and scowls at her in the mirror, but Harley merely smiles widely at her, rows of white teeth under blood red lips.
She re-emerges into what is now a crowded room, a throng of people parting in her wake. A thin man in a pullover catches her eyes and immediately looks away again, and she saunters over with a grin. Not saying a word, she lifts the full pint glass he is holding out of his hands and drinks the whole thing in a matter of seconds. The man raises his eyebrows at her and looks as though he might protest, but instead merely flushes when Harleys places a delicate kiss on the corner of his mouth, replacing the empty glass into his hand and trailing away into the darkness.
The music seems to become louder. It floats around her, into her, until all she can feel is the beat. She is distantly aware of dozens of eyes on her, but she doesn't care anymore. The game is forgotten. Unsteady feet take her to the centre of the room and she sways slightly in the darkness. A hand reaches out to grab her shoulder and steady her, and she finds herself looking into Joe's eyes, dark with lust.
"Want to dance?" he shouts into her ear, his hand moving from her shoulder to slide down her arm and rest on her hip. She smiles at him which he takes as accession, and without hesitation he places his other hand on her, spinning her round so that her back is to him. She moves swiftly and easily, the thud of the music winding through her until she has given herself to it completely.
She can still feel his hands on her, roving, but they seem far away and distant. She wonders if maybe this time she has gone too far - drunk too much, drawn too much attention, but then the music changes track and she looses herself again, taking pleasure in movement and the grind of her body against another.
Then, suddenly, the support is gone and she stumbles, the ground beneath her lurching. The hand returns but this time it's no longer the warm hands encircling her waist but a biting hand that encircles her bicep and yanks her back to her feet.
"Out" a voice hisses into her ear and despite herself, she shivers. "Now".
The hand pulls her roughly, although its owner is lost in the crowd. She can barely make out the white eyes of the strangers watching as she is forcibly removed and then she is past them and the night air is cold on her skin, the door slamming shut behind her. She wobbles precariously for a moment and this time no one catches her and she falls heavily onto the tarmac.
"Ouch" she says softly, examining her grazed hand with childlike curiosity. There's a crunch of gravel behind her and then there are hands hauling her up to her feet, and steadying her against their chest. They push her forward, and as she stumbles unsteadily, she looks down at the hand wrapped around her midriff keeping her upright, a yawning smile in crimson red ink splayed across the pale skin, grinning up at her.
"Pudd-d-in" she hiccups but he ignores her, instead continuing to push her forward. She twists to try and look at him but he's got a firm hold of her and she can't writhe enough out of his grasp to turn around. It's only then that she hears the soft thud, like a rolling pin on batter. Not wanting to look, but doing so anyway, she stops squirming and looks ahead.
There's a man directly in front of her curled on the ground. The noise she can hear is the thud of a boot being repeatedly kicked into his abdomen. Mercifully, it stops just as she's about to cry out, and then the man groans as he too is hoisted up by a tattooed giant in a too-small t-shirt. Though her brain is addled by drink and she feels like she is wading through treacle, she recognises him.
"Joe" she whispers. His reddened eyes meet hers and widen. He looks as though he is going to say something when suddenly a hand is painfully pulling back the hair from her neck and grasping at her head to pull it to her shoulder, exposing her thin white neck.
The Joker's voice sounds in her ear, full of pure white hot rage.
"What does this say?" he says slowly, almost softly. Joe whimpers and closes his eyes. There's a moment of tense silence, filled only with Joe's sniffling and then the Joker explodes.
"I said, WHAT DOES THIS SAY?" he bellows, still holding down Harley's neck in an unnatural position with one arm, the other snaked around her waist propping her up against his body.
Joe is crying now and he's shaking his head, drops of blood flying from his nose to land on his shirt collar.
"You don't know?" says the Joker, glaring daggers into the shaking man. "Let me help you" he hisses through clenched teeth. He looks down at Harley's bare neck and moves his hand from her head to wrap around her neck. Her chin supported in the crook of his elbow, he can still trace the words tattooed there in dark ink. Property of the the Joker.
"I - I - I, di-didn't know" Joe is stammering and even in the dark Harley can see the blood in his teeth, staining them black in the twilight. Something in her gut twists in guilt and she stares morosely at the man who had insisted that she drink shots of tequila with him all evening. His eyes meet hers sand she sees nothing but betrayal, confusion and fright and then she's being turned away from him and forcibly pushed forward again
"Bad, bad girl, Harley" the Joker hisses in her ear and some part of her knows that this is serious, that the rage in his voice is deadly, but all she wants to do is sleep. Her foot catches on the tarmac but then there's cool metal beneath her hands and she remains upright, locked between the his body and the car.
He fumbles in his pocket momentarily for the key, finds it and unlocks the door, then proceeds to unceremoniously manoeuvre Harley into the passenger seat. She in turn immediately tries to stand back up. "S'party" she slurs as she attempts to swing her legs out of the car and stand, even though his body is blocking her way, his hands splayed on the roof of the car as he peers down at her.
He is half tempted to let her out and leave her there on the tarmac, let whatever may befall her do so. But when, half sitting twisted out of the passenger seat, her forehead comes to rest against the door frame and she promptly falls asleep, he rolls his eyes and pushes her back inside, reaching across her to buckle the seatbelt.
He locks the car with her inside it and stalks back over to his henchman, smoothing back his hair and cracking his neck in one sharp movement. "Find Stan" he says, eyes glittering. "Tell him, oh boy, is he in a world of trouble".
"Yes boss. And the boy?"
The Joker looks down at the body at his feet, barely able to make out the rise and fall of his chest but able nonetheless to hear its wheezed breathing. "He disrespected my possessions" said the Joker, circling Joe. "He laid hands on my most prized possession of all". His expressions twists into a snarl and then his gun has appeared in his hand and he's levelling it at the boy.
"What do you think, George? A bullet to the temple or a slug to the gut?"
"Your choice, boss man" the overly muscled man shrugs.
The Joker raises his smiling hand to his lips and laughs loudly into the night. "It's been one hell of a night" he says finally, "and I'm feeling… what's the word?". His eyes gleam as he spits it out. "Merciful." He looks down at Joe one more time and then swiftly pockets the gun and stalks back to the car without a backwards glance.
He slides gracefully into the driver's seat and starts up the engine. He looks into the passenger side mirror and catches a glimpse of Harley, her chin nodding towards her chest and hair falling all about her cheeks. Her face is serene and despite the smudged lipstick and the smell of whisky filling the car like a cheap liquor shop, he can't quite draw his eyes away.
"Baby, baby, baby" he whispers to her, reaching over and drawing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You've been such a naughty girl". He draws his fingers across her cheek, her neck, feeling her pulse beating strongly under his fingers. "You've made Daddy very mad indeed". His thumb presses into the space around her windpipe and he feels the hot rush of blood around his body that he always does when he holds someone's life in the balance. His fingers twitch in anticipation and for one moment he tightens his hold, but then he's releasing her and pulling the car away, the ghost of her pulse still under his thumb, a limb body being hoisted away in the rearview mirror.
He drives in silence, stopping for no red lights, listening only to the whine of the engine as the car speeds along the highway and then the private lanes home. When finally he turns into the driveway, the clock on the dashboard is saying it's gone midnight.
"Wake up" he says harshly, shaking the sleeping woman next to him once he's pulled the car to a stop. She groans softly and moves in her sleep, but otherwise doesn't wake. The Joker pinches the bridge of his nose. "Harley, I swear to God…" he mutters under his breath and then inhales deeply and lets it out in one prolonged and exasperated sigh.
He slams shut the drivers side door and then opens hers and reaches across to unbuckle her seatbelt. His face is only inches from hers and he reaches a hand out and roughly caresses her lips with his thumb, smudging the lipstick on them even further. She sighs and the skin of his hand tingles under her breath. "Sweetheart, little Darlin'" he mutters and then moves his arm under her legs and places another round her back, lifting her gently from the car. Her head lolls against his chest, oblivious as the Joker hums to himself as we walks with her in his arms to the door of the mansion.
The biometric scanners at the door's entrance detect his presence and momentarily disable the locks, and The Joker pushes down the handle with his elbow and enters. The door locks again behind him with a solid thud as the bolts drive home.
He ascends the staircase and then they're in the master bedroom and he's depositing Harley onto the bed. He watches intently as she stretches briefly and then curls back around herself. For a moment he contemplates lying down next to her, drawing her close to him if only to prove that she is his, that, although half the time he wants to kill her, he would readily kill anyone who tried to take her from him.
The boy in the bar had been lucky. The last man who placed hands on his Harley Quinn had found himself at the bottom of a shallow grave with nothing but a gunshot wound for company.
A phone vibrates in his pocket and The Joker tears his eyes away from Harley and answers it. He gives her one last backwards glance and then he's closing the bedroom door, his voice immediately becoming muffled as he descends back into the bowels of the house.
Harley is still for a moment after he leaves, the only sound the distant murmur from downstairs and her steady breathing, but then suddenly she's awake again and semi-conscious. "P'din" she slurs sleepily, her eyes cracking open to take in the dark and empty bedroom. She props herself up on her elbows and looks around for him. There's no one there but her though.
She pushes her body upright, the room spinning violently around her. "Pu-uddin" she calls again, this time louder. There's no response but there's a light shining from beneath the door and he must be on the other side of it, right? And she has to - what? What does she have to do? The room is still dancing around her and she can feel the whisky in her stomach forcing it's way up.
Whisky. Stan… Joe
That's it. She has to tell him, something about the bar, that she didn't mean anything, that he shouldn't be mad at her. She's good, she's always been a good girl for him. She just has to prove it.
It feels like an eternity to manoeuvre her sluggish body to the edge of the bed and to stand, her eyes fixed on that sliver of white light coming from under the door.
She makes it barely two steps before she's somehow tripped over her own feet and lands heavily on the floor. There's a silence and then a thudding sound that becomes progressively louder and suddenly the door is being flung open. Harley holds one hand wearily up, shielding her eyes from the light.
"I'll call you back" the Joker mutters from his place in the doorway and then steps into the room and crouches down in front of her. He grips her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him.
"You're being a right pain in my ass today, Harls" he says, although his voice is soft and lacking its usual menace.
"Sr-ry" she slurs, dropping her head sleepily into his palm and letting him take her weight.
The Joker's eyes are wide as he brings his other hand up to trace the tattoo on her neck. "Did you forget?" he whispers. She doesn't say anything and he gives her a nudge. She opens her eyes again and looks at him blearily. "Did you forget, Harley?"
"For-get. Wh- what?" she hiccups.
"That you belong to me baby, only me".
Harley shakes her head sleepily and leans into him further. He releases her chin as her head meets his chest and then swiftly pulls her upright in his arms and lowers her back down to the bed.
"W's jus' fun" she slurs as he's doing so. "You dun even - care. Bout me. Mm. Truck, no you didn't. Mmm" she says drowsily, nuzzling her head into the pillow.
The Joker sits down next to her and though the phone is buzzing again in his pocket, he ignores it. "Speak sense, girl. What truck?"
"Re-member" Harleys says sleepily. "After, the thing. At Go-go-tham. There was the, the truck. The man. Sh-shot him. You said. G-go away. Dun care. Bou't me. Stu-pid me. Dun care bout, Harley… Qu-inn".
Her breathing slows and the Joker watches her slip once more into sleep, her lips parted slightly. The rage at seeing her in the arms of another man is still glowing warmly in his stomach, but for now, there's something else, something softer and infinitely more dangerous rippling through his body as he watches her sleep. When he lets it, it consumes it. So often he holds it back for fear of what it could do, but tonight. Maybe just tonight, he can give in to it. He sights and lowers himself down next to her on the bed, pulling her close against his chest and tucking her head beneath his chin.
He whispers into her hair.
"I hated you for making me love again, Harley. You can't blame me for that".
She curls her hand around the fabric of his shirt and murmurs something indistinguishable.
"I'm not going anywhere" the Joker says softly. "I won't let you go".
THE END