...Though Harley Quinn privately thought that he wasn't crazy at all, but that insanity was an easier box to put him in than to label him as someone who knew perfectly well what he was doing and just employed a wicked sense of humor with malicious glee.
Harley thought him much too wily, focused and clever to be truly insane.
She wasn't ready, nor would she ever be, to put much thought into her own mental condition. But she put a lot of thought into his, and what she came up with that he was brilliant, a bonafide genius in fact. Not a comedic genius, though he was that too (it was his claim to fame, after all)... But to think of all the things he'd invented! Smilex, Smilex (fish edition), an electric chair powered by laughter, rocket fuel-powered ejector seats... not to mention the new and clever uses for things that somebody else had invented; potato mashers, crayons, sewing kits, defibrillators, cheese graters... Harley's Puddin' was a genius, all right.
But even geniuses got stuck for ideas sometimes.
He sat at the desk, surrounded by balls of paper, half-eaten cinnamon rolls and party noisemakers, clutching his hair and staring avidly at the wall.
"I need the boy... so I can get the bat... but I can't get the boy unless the bat's out of the way... and I need to get the boy so I can get rid of the bat... and unless the bat's out of the way, there's no getting near the kid..." he'd been muttering in circles for almost fifteen minutes, and Harley was getting bored. She was sitting on the floor at his feet, catching as many cinnamon buns as she could and putting them in the recently empty fish tank where they wouldn't make the carpet all sticky. (The tank was full of water and a plugged-in toaster, but Harley wasn't sure where the fish had gone... and the wall socket where the toaster was plugged in was kind of black and melty).
"Why don'tcha just shoot him in some unimportant place and then grab 'em?" she asked through a mouthful of cinnamon bun, and yawned.
He groaned, and rubbed his temples. "Harley. Don't you have traffic to play in?"
She swallowed her mouthful. "I didn't think-"
"Well, that's obvious," he snapped at her, and turned back to the blank sheet in front of him. "I-" "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. Not interested."
"But-"
He turned around again, narrowing his eyes. "What do you tell a harlequin with two black eyes?"
"What?" she asked, shrinking back.
"Nothing you haven't told her twice already!" he let out a shrill cackle, then gathered himself together and glared at her. "Get it? Now, scram."
She did.
Her eyes flew open hours later when he got into the bed beside her; the door to the makeshift office had slammed shut behind her and she'd stayed out, passing by the door and pressing her ear to it every so often, hearing him muttering to himself, once or twice what sounded like the chair being thrown across the room, and finally the toaster-filled fish tank shattering.
Presumably, the piles of crumpled ideas that covered the floor had soaked up the water.
"Ya missed me, Puddin'?" she mumbled sleepily.
"Angel," he began and ran a finger down her arm, "...Don't flatter yourself." And he shoved her out onto the floor.
He chuckled as she thrashed around in a tangle of sheets trying to right herself, and she glared at him. "Yeah, yeah, real funny." She climbed back up onto the bed, and poked him in the arm. "Why'd you have to-"
"Harley. Sssssshhhh," he groaned. "You know what that means?"
"You got a slow leak?" she snapped, irritably.
He chuckled, and pulled her close to him. "What would I do without you, kiddo?"
She sighed happily. But right before she drifted off again...
"Harley?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't call me Puddin'."
********
The new Robin was young, tenacious. Excitable. The Joker had commented to Harley that this new, little one was a little bit original Robin (and current Nightwing) and a little bit of the Robin who had met a grisly end that had a lot to do with Harley's Puddin' and a crowbar. The new Robin was bubbly, chatty, young, with a lot to prove. Tenacious. Proud.
Easy to trick, it turned out.
In the end, simplicity was the route the Joker took, and as usual, his choice was the right one.
"He'll recognize my voice," Harley whined, twisting around in the Joker's grip on her upper arm.
He sighed a long, impatient breath. She stopped writhing around immediately. "Mistah J-"
"Harley," he finally said, curiously gently, "you know that you're not genetically compelled to sound like a wiener dog on helium."
She didn't like disguising her voice, and he knew that. She liked sounding like Harley Quinn. She didn't like remembering the sound of Harleen Quinzel, who had tried so very hard to sound so big, and grown up, and important, and capable. But he insisted on asking, time and time again. He couldn't disguise himself; flesh-toned makeup, wigs, black suits... emerald green eyes still shone from hollow sockets, an impossibly slender six-foot-six frame towered above everyone. A gravelly, obscenely mirthful and pornographically intimate voice that could never quite make itself sound common.
So it was always up to Harley; meet this guy at the airport, he owes the Joker a favour. Pretend to be legal counsel for this man who claims to have killed Batman. Here, pretend to sell this antique-shop owner a jack-in-the-box and then steal his kryptonite.
And always, always, always the same request: "Harleykins, remember how you used to talk when you psychoanalyzed Daddy. Do the voice."
"No!"
"Come on, baby. Do the voice." his voice grew husky, and her knees went wobbly. "Ask me about the ink blots." He nudged her gently in the ribs, and she half-smiled. She knew he was just being flirty to get to her to do what he wanted, but it was so darned effective. "Come on, Harley. You know how much I like it when you call me by the number."
Reluctantly, her voice slid easily into its naturally lower cadence. "Patient 11940, why do you suppose it is that you can't stop focusing so much on... the Batman?"
He grabbed her roughly around the waist and pulled her to him. "Good girl, baby." He grinned rakishly. "And, to answer your question, I'm focused on the Batman because he's no fun. And we're going to put a smile on his face or die trying, eh, kiddo?"
"Yessir."
And so here she was, facing a dirty brick wall and lying in a pile of garbage bags in some dark corner of Crime Alley, waiting for the familiar sound of Robin patrolling. The Joker had watched and waited patiently until Robin had been allowed to patrol on his own.
Swish. A line grappling to a building, a childish grunt of exertion. Quiet, but she was listening for it.
"Help me! Please help me!" Harley cried out, flailing around in her garbage bags and making them crinkle around her. She hated Harleen's stupid, dopey voice, but she gritted her teeth and cried out again. "I can't move! Help!"
With a thud, booted feet landed next to her. "Miss?! Are you all right? What's happened?"
This Robin, still so new, had never seen Harley without her cowl and mask. She rolled over and regarded him with innocent blue eyes. "Can you help me up?" she asked.
He extended a hand, but repeated the question, a trifle impatiently. "What happened here?"
She purposely stumbled against him; skinny kid. "I'm sorry," she said, "it's just..."
"Yes?" he asked, pubescently gallant, earnestly concerned. He held her up.
"It's just..." she slowly withdrew something from her pocket. It went unnoticed. "Did you ever hear the one about the clown girl and the bird boy?" Lightning-quick, she pressed the chloroform-soaked rag over his nose and mouth.
"I'd tell it to ya, but it would really put ya to sleep!" she said, using her normal voice at last, and her giggling was the last thing Tim Drake heard before he fainted.
********
Harley lugged Robin to an abandoned candy factory the Joker had picked out especially; the more obvious the hideout, the quicker Batman would find them... and that was what the Joker really wanted. Robin was just welcome collateral damage.
"Harls, you have the brain of a four year old," the Joker commented, watching as Harley tied Robin to a chair.
She rolled her eyes. "He was glad to be rid of it."
The Joker chuckled appreciatively, and her heart swelled. She took a step back from her handiwork, and spread her arms wide. "Tada!" The Joker smiled and nodded, trotting over to where the prone teen sat motionless. He began lightly slapping his cheeks; not enough to hurt, just enough to slowly rouse him. He'd be no fun asleep.
The boy came to slowly, blinking and shaking his head as if to clear it. "What...?" Then he remembered, and his gaze fixed on the purple-suited specter looming over him. "No! No, you... fiend!"
The Joker clapped a hand to his chest as if he'd been stabbed. He dramatically staggered back a couple of steps. "Harleykins! Did you hear what he called you?!"
"Whatta jerk," Harley agreed, with a smirk. "Want me to teach him some manners, Puddin'?"
"I think it wise."
But he was already wriggling out of the rope. Harley bit her lip; she really wasn't good at knots. She leapt forward and cracked him in the jaw with a black-gloved fist. He cried out, and the Joker chuckled softly.
"Harley," Robin said, a note of desperation in his voice. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to be this way. You have a choice... W-why do you act like this?"
"Who's acting?" she replied. "I really am like this!" She wrapped the length of rope around him again for good measure and held it there, waiting for the Joker's approving nod. She felt the slightest stab of regret... the kid couldn't be more than fourteen. What a waste of a sidekick.
The Joker regarded Harley with a cold smirk and gave her a quick pat on the head, before focusing his attention on the boy in the chair.
"You'll never get away with this, Joker!" Robin cried... predictably.
The Joker pulled his mouth down in an exaggerated pout. "My heart aches with the sorrow of a thousand scouts. No merit badge. I mourn my loss." He rolled his eyes. "Make sure that rope's nice and tight, Harley girl."
Harley swooned inside at the nickname, and pulled the rope tighter so Robin squeaked a little.
"You like jokes, don'tcha?" Harley asked him, sweetly.
Robin didn't answer, instead choosing to stare at the floor and grind his teeth.
The Joker grinned widely and grabbed the boy's chin, forcing him to look up at the looming pair of clowns... and the shiny axe Harley had hefted over her shoulder. "Why did the Boy Blunder fall off the swing set?" the Joker asked.
Silence from Robin.
Harley jumped in instead. "Why, Puddin'?" she asked, eagerly.
"Because he had no hands!" the Joker cried gleefully, choosing to ignore being called 'Puddin'' for the time being. He chucked Robin under the chin. "And why didn't he get back up?"
"Why?" chimed in Harley. Robin bared his teeth at her and she reached over and ruffled his hair.
"Because he had no legs!" Joker chortled, and Harley let out a titter.
"And why didn't anybody help him, Puddy Tat?" she asked, through her giggles.
"Be...because..." he was still laughing, "because nobody knew who or where he was!" He held out a hand for the axe, and Harley gleefully handed it over.
"What a shame." Harley tsked and knelt down to look Robin in the eye. "Hey, Bird Boy... what's smelly and green and fuzzy all over?" She tapped his nose. "You. By the time ol' Bat Breath finds ya...owwwww!" The Joker had seized her by the cowl and hauled her roughly to her feet; the spandex dug painfully into her neck. "What's the big idea?" she snapped, trying and failing to shake him off.
"What's rule number one?" he hissed.
She looked at her feet.
"Harley. Dollface. Sweetheart. Pumpkin Pie," he coaxed with gritted teeth, and shook her. "What. Is. Rule. Number. One."
She mumbled something.
"What's that, baby? They can't hear you in the mezzanine."
"...You always deliver the punchline, boss," she sighed.
"Good girl," he said, and shoved her away from him. She scrambled away, whimpering. "Now," the Joker said, his lips stretching in a grin as he turned around, "I think we have some unfinished business, Boy Wonde-" he stopped short. The chair was empty, surrounded by cords which were sliced cleanly through.
"Oh, wonderful," the Joker growled, and he looked wildly around for Harley; Robin was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind... It was Harley's fault he'd been distracted, and so it was Harley's fault the kid had gotten away. "Come out, you little twit."
"Fat chance, Joker," came Robin's voice from the beams above.
The Joker's eyes flicked upward. "Not you, idiot," he hissed, and then his eyes returned to the boxes and crates surrounding the chair again. "Harley!"
"I'm not comin' out!" came a muffled voice from... where?
The Joker rolled his eyes extravagantly, glanced upward for a sign of Robin, stroked a finger musingly along the head of the axe... and then changed his tone. "Harley... cupcake... come on out. Daddy wants to talk to you."
"You're not mad?" she called, fearfully.
"Baby!" he said, shock crossing his face, a bewildered hand clutching his chest. "Me? You know I can't stay mad at you!"
A red and black-clad head rose slowly from behind one of the wooden crates. "Really?" she asked, ever the optimist.
"Really," he assured her.
"'Cause I just forgot," she said, taking a step towards him.
"Of course you did, Pooh. It's hard to remember the rules sometimes, isn't it?" his naturally theatrical face formed a placatingly generous expression, though inwardly he was starting to get excited. The hand gripping the axe trembled with the effort not to jump the gun, when she was far enough still that she might dodge him in time.
"Uh huh," she sniffed, looking forlorn and self-pitying and sulky and just making him want to cut her into even more pieces. She took another three steps toward him.
"Babycakes!" he said, spreading his arms. She hopped towards him, not noticing his knuckles turning even whiter around the axe's handle or the cruel smile which split his features.
"Say goodnight, Gracie."
Luckily for her, Robin chose that moment to drop down from the ceiling and land on the purple-clad clown. He wrenched the axe from his hand and threw it across the floor with all his might; Harley watched its progress as it scraped over the floor with dawning comprehension.
She always fell for it. Every other week... every single time. One of these days he was actually going to... she narrowed her eyes, and stood up. Robin was too busy straddling the Joker's chest and punching him, and the Joker was too busy being punched, to notice her.
Suddenly, Robin found himself hauled off the clown prince of crime by the scruff of his neck, and shoved to the side. "Get lost, Tweetie," said Harley, through gritted teeth. Robin just stared dumbly at her; his juvenile awkwardness was suddenly obvious with him shifting from foot to foot indecisively instead of flitting around like a hummingbird.
She replaced Robin, straddling the Joker's lap and grabbing him roughly by the lapels, pulling him up to meet her eyes.
"Why, Harleen," the Joker said, feigning embarrassment. "There are children in the room."
"Listen, ya big green-haired jerk," Harley growled, "I am tired of finding itching powder in my unitard! I am tired of you tossing grenades at me 'cause you think it's funny, and I am tired most of all of almost getting my head chopped off! So smarten up because we are in front of company." The Joker raised green eyes to Robin, and shrugged expansively. "Women. What are you going to do?" He shoved Harley roughly to the side and off of him, and he rose. "But the lady is correct, I'm afraid. Where are my manners?" He started advancing, and Robin starting backing up and fumbling with his utility belt. The Joker smirked. "Not quite so heroic without the big bad Bat to save you, are you?"
It occurred to Harley that she'd never seen this Robin without the Batman before, and that that was the point of the plan... the Joker had seen that Robin couldn't handle himself on his own yet. He was still so new...
Robin finally clutched a batarang in trembling fingers, but it was too late; the Joker had backed him into a corner and held an abalone-handled switchblade delicately in one hand.
"Now, what you're going to do," he said, very quietly, "is get that little birdie behind of yours back on that chair." He plucked the weapon out of Robin's sweaty fingers easily, and dropped it to the floor. Then he gripped the boy's shoulder in his free hand. "But first, you're going to take off the belt. No more tricks, no more toys, and you juuust might get to live through tonight; it's daddy we want, not you." He released Robin's shoulder, and allowed the boy to remove the utility belt. Robin was sniffling openly now, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Awww, the hero gig not quite what you thought it was gonna be?" asked Harley, grabbing the belt from him. "Oooh, Mistah J, look! Smoke bombs!"
The Joker shoved Robin toward the chair, and Robin sat in it of his own accord. Harley snapped the batcuffs around his wrists and then tied him up with his own batline.
"There. Take two," she said, and shrugged.
"Good girl," said the Joker, absently. He looked around and rubbed his hands together, shifting his weight. "I thought he'd be here by now."
CRASH!
Right on time; there wasn't a skylight in Gotham safe from falling bats.
Harley stepped back, half behind her Joker, and watched carefully; conversely the Joker strode confidently forward with a devil-may-care tilt of his head.
"Batsy! You're late!"
Harley pressed the button, the giant net failed to deploy, Batgirl swung through the broken skylight after Batman, and, as usual, the plan quickly fell apart.
With an annoyed glance back at his henchgirl, the Joker raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Harley spread her hands. She wasn't exactly an engineer. She didn't know why things sometimes didn't work the way they were supposed to.
"Well... I'd love to stand here all day and count my brain cells as they die one by one," the Joker drawled, "But... you know how it is. People to go, places to see, psychosis to indulge."
"Catch ya later, Bird Boy," chirped Harley.
The Joker gallantly extended an arm; Harley happily took it.
"And just so I know you're not following us..." The Joker delicately held out a smiling grenade to Harley so she could do the honours of pulling the pin. He threw it at Robin's feet. The poor kid was trying hard to stem his tears now that the big, bad bat was there to see them.
Harley and the Joker didn't stick around, but they both knew the grenade wouldn't do much more than stall the bat family; those costumed vigilantes were hardier than post-nuclear cockroaches.
They didn't say much until later, speeding away from Gotham in the shiny purple cadillac. Harley knew they wouldn't be stopped; she'd never seen a policeman brave enough. Only Batman was brave enough. It was a nice thing about being with him... for one of the world's most-hunted criminals, people didn't often bother him.
"Are you okay, Mistah J?" she asked, after she was sure no one was following. Maybe the Bat hadn't been quick enough to save the kid. Maybe they were picking up the pieces. Maybe that was what he was thinking about, too.
He laughed, softly. "Never better, cupcake."
Another few minutes passed, and he hummed thoughtfully in his throat. "'Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease for pain,'" he quoted. "Ever hear that, Harls?"
She considered it. "No, sir."
"Think about it."
She did, and for the next two hours until she checked them into the first sleazy motel they found, they didn't talk, she just rested her head on his arm as they drove.
And not for the first time, she wondered who he had been before he was hers, and what pain he laughed at so he didn't have to feel it.