Robbery

It was another heist. The Joker and Harley Quinn were extremely short on cash. It was just the two of them there. No henchmen. They'd broken into the house of one of Gotham's most wealthy businessmen.

The Joker cursed under his breath as he tried to unlock the safe he found hidden in the man's study. He had nothing on him but a hair pin that Harley let him use. He wanted to jump for joy when he finally managed to open it. He started grabbing stacks of cash and putting them in a bag when he heard a gunshot come from down the hall where he knew the master bedroom was.

"Shit," the Joker muttered. "I thought I told her we weren't going to be killing anybody." He started to make his way down the hallway to where the shot came from when he heard a woman yell.

The woman didn't sound at all like Harley so his speculation was that the man he was robbing had a wife. He heard the woman exclaim, "Oh, my God! Randy, you killed her!"

He heard the man say, "But she broke into our house. Look! She was taking your jewelry."

The Joker swore his heart stopped beating. They killed Harley? Oh, that was a bad idea! He was going to make them pay. He dropped his bag of money and stomped toward the master bedroom, but paused right outside the doorway to hear them conversing.

"I can't believe you killed her, Randy," the woman said.

"Hope, stop. What's done is done. There's no fixing it. She broke into our house and she was robbing us. That should be a perfectly valid justification as to why I shot her."

"Oh, but look at her. She's was so young. She looks dirty too. Maybe she's homeless and that's why she was robbing us. Ah! Poor thing. We could've offered to give her something." There was a reason she was dirty: They had become so poor they couldn't afford hot water. The woman might as well have been right about her being homeless.

"Would you stop feeling pity for her? She's dead, okay? Dead. There's nothing we can do."

The Joker couldn't listen to them anymore. He drew his Glock 26 from its holster and turned the corner to stand in their doorway.

"Oh, my God! It's the Joker!" Hope screamed. She jumped and hid behind her husband, who pointed his gun at the Joker.

The man attempted to look menacing, but his arms shook with fear as he pointed his pistol at the clown standing in his doorway. "L-Look, man... We don't want any trouble. What are you doing in our house?"

The Joker laughed. "Well, Randy, I was just going to rob you peacefully and leave, but the plans changed when you killed my little Harley Quinn here. It's not a peaceful robbery anymore. It's a robbery and a murder." In a swift movement, he fired his gun twice and the couple was on the ground with bullet wounds in their foreheads.

He placed the gun back in its holster before kneeling down next to Harley's limp body. He didn't want to believe she was dead. He just couldn't. He shook her, attempting to wake her up. "Harley, wake up. Harley!" But she was dead.

It's your fault, one of the voices said. You let her get killed.

Just think, another one started, If you could provide for her, you wouldn't be so desparate for cash. You let your lives get this bad.

"Shut up!" the Joker yelled at them. He scooped Harley up in his arms and held her as close to him as he possibly could. "I'm sorry, Harley. I'm so sorry. For everything. Especially for this."

And he cried. He sobbed uncontrollably into her hair for God knows how long.

The Joker woke up with a jolt, drenched in sweat. He sat up and realized he was in his apartment. In his bedroom. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was a dream. She wasn't dead. She was still there. But when he turned to feel for her sleeping next to him, she wasn't there. Her spot was empty.

So she was really gone.

He sat for a moment, staring at the spot where she usually slept. He wanted to cry, but crying made him feel pathetic. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure appear in the doorway. "Go away, Frost," he muttered.

"Um, I'm not Frosty, Puddin'."

No. It couldn't be. She was dead. He had to be hallucinating. He shot his head up to see Harley standing there in her red lingerie, her wavy multi-colored hair cascading down her shoudlers. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to convince himself that he was hallucinating. "No. No, you're not real. You're dead." But when he opened his eyes, she was still standing there.

Harley raised an eyebrow at him. "What do ya mean? I ain't dead, Puddin'. I'm right here." She smiled and slowly walked over to him before sitting on the bed. "Did ya have a bad dream or somethin'?"

He had to be hallucinating. If her death was a dream, it sure was a vivid one. "No. You're dead."

"Puddin'..." Harley reached her hand out toward the Joker. "Take my hand. I'm still here. You just had a bad dream. That's all."

Hesitantly, he took her hand. It didn't feel like a hallucination. It felt so real. Her hand was warm against his and he wanted to hold it forever. "It was just a dream?" he asked her, as if she had the answer.

"Apparently," she answered, scooting closer to him. "You dreamt of me dying? How did I die?"

"It didn't seem like a dream. It seemed so real. You were dead." He shuddered at the picture of her lifeless body on the floor of a stranger's home with a bullet wound in her pretty forehead. "We were robbing somebody's home and you were stealing the woman's jewelry from the bedroom. The man saw you and shot you, killing you. I killed them both. But you were dead."

"Oh, Puddin'. I'd never endager myself that much. If we were robbing somebody's home, I'd never go into the room where they were sleeping. That'd be too risky." She squeezed his hand tighter in an attempt to assure him that she was still alive. "I'm still here. And I'm not going anywhere."

The Joker smiled at that. "Good. But just to be sure, from now on, you never, ever leave my side."

She giggled. "Now who's the clingy one?"

"Shut up," he growled. He sat cross-legged. "Now come sit on Daddy's lap."

With a grin, she obeyed and crawled onto his lap, curling up so he could wrap his arms around her entire form. "I love you, Puddin'."

"That's nice."

"Aww. Aren't ya gonna say it back?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"I love you, Harley."