Warning(s): Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm/Suicide Attempt(s), etc.
Disclaimer: The song I Started A Joke, which inspired this fic - and part of which is included in this chapter - is owned by the Bee Gees.
Intro: I Started A Joke
"I-I'm sorry, Puddin'." Harley stuttered, blue eyes fixed on the floor. The tattered remains of the Joker's favorite crocodile skin jacket were strewn across the floor in front of her, "I d-didn't... I... I..."
"Ya what? Ya didn't mean to? Oh, that's rich." His foot connected with her ribs, causing her to flop onto her back. "And don't call me that!"
Large tears rolled down her red, blotchy cheeks. Blood and make-up were smeared across her face, a nasty bruise already forming over her right eye. "It was a machine gun, baby... your jacket's great an' all, but it's not kevlar..."
Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. "And where was my little human shield, huh? I thought that ya would die for me."
"I-I would, baby! Any day!" Harley swore, looking up at her love imploringly.
"Then where the hell where ya when that mafia goon was trying to shoot me to ribbons? Last time I checked, running away from the line of fire is mutiny!" The Joker hissed. "You're damn lucky the only thing with holes in it is my coat, girlie... Ya think this is bad? Ya don't know the half of it."
"I'm s-sorry, baby! I can fix the coat, I swear!" He raised his fist, readying to strike her again, until Harley cowered away from him, hiding her face in her hands.
The corner of the Joker's mouth twitched downward, the barest hint of a frown visible. "And what the hell do ya think you're doing, little girl?"
He grabbed her wrist, twisting it around until her arm was bent as far back as it would twist naturally. Harley, suddenly realizing her mistake, opened her mouth to apologize and beg for mercy - all that came out was a choked scream as the Joker forced her arm all the way back, yanking it out of it's socket. He held her up by her dislocated arm, smirking as she sobbed weakly, in too much pain to move and too afraid to try and fight back.
With his free hand, he picked up the remains of the coat and stuffed the charred, tattered cloth into Harley's mouth. Harley sobbed as her jaw popped, and he just kept feeding the cloth to her until she could feel it in her throat. She choked and sputtered, unable to swallow, drool tinged with blood trickling down her chin. He giggled as she sobbed, her futile attempts to breathe around the make-shift gag suddenly hysterical.
When she went limp in his arms, he released her with a sigh. He yanked the coat back out of her mouth, frowning when she spluttered, color returning to her cheeks as fresh air filled her lungs again. "Such a shame. You're still alive."
"I-I'm sorry..." She wheezed, curled in a ball at the Joker's feet. "I can... I can do b-better..."
"I expect that coat to be perfect by the time I come back." He said finally, suddenly tired of his plaything.
He stepped over her, before stalking out of the room and slamming the door closed behind him. When his footsteps faded into oblivion, Harley weakly pulled herself into an upright position, taking his coat in trembling hands and holding it to her heaving chest. She was crying, the tears streaking the remnants of her make-up. She hadn't been so scared since seeing the hail of bullets come down on her Clown Prince.
And yet, even in that moment, her first instinct had not been to protect him - it had been self-preservation. She'd taken cover behind an overturned vehicle like a scared little kid and let the Joker be utterly humiliated at the hands of some loon who'd thought it would be a good idea to try and reneg on a deal with the Joker. She knew without a doubt that he'd have the man's head on a pike for this, but that didn't ease the pain of her betrayal.
The tears fell faster when she looked at the tattered remains of his coat, amazed that her love had managed to walk away without even a scratch. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking when she'd promised that she could make the coat one-hundred percent again... The idea of betraying her love again sent another shiver of fear through her. Maybe it would have been better if she'd stepped in front of the rain of bullets. At least then, she would've proved herself useful for once.
With a grunt, she gingerly eased herself to her feet. Her entire body screamed in protest, but there was no time to waste. She retrieved the sewing kit, before sitting back down on the floor. There was a lot of work to be done before her Mistah J came calling...
It was nearing 1 AM, and the Joker had yet to call upon Harley. He knew that the jacket was beyond repair, and quite frankly wasn't in the mood to see how badly she'd loused up the job he'd given her. Sometimes, he wondered if she'd ever learn...
He was lounging on the couch in the warehouse, a glass of wine in hand. The late night news flickered across the television screen, detailing the most recent homicides to hit Gotham in all their juicy, gruesome detail. Usually, listening to the horror stories of bloodshed and violence that rocked his fair city was enough to cool the Joker's raging temper... But tonight, the newscaster seemed to take a particular interest in the Joker vs. the Mob showdown that had gone down earlier that day.
As if to add to his humilation, a passerby had caught the whole thing on camera and sold it to the news station to make a quick buck.
The corner of his mouth twitched and his hand tightened around the glass until it shattered in his hand, red wine pouring over his fingers and staining the lush purple carpet. He didn't even feel the glass piercing his skin, blood bubbling to the surface of his wounds. Perhaps the news station would recieve a very special delivery of Joker toxin the following day, as a sort of 'thank you' for being foolish enough to broadcast such a story.
Could this day get any better?
"Daddy?" A tiny voice implored. The Joker rolled his eyes - of course, he should've known better than to curse himself like that.
"Whatever it is, go bother your mother." He said, not even bothering to look down at the small four-year-old that had just approached the side of the couch. Even on her tip-toes, she was still too short to see over the arm of the couch.
The child was silent for a moment, and the Joker thought he'd been left to his own devices once more. His chest tightened and his anger flared when the child continued, "I can't find Mommy."
The Joker sighed, "Come now. Ya can't be that much of an idiot. Your mother is where she always is - the bedroom."
"Mommy isn't in the bedroom, Daddy." The child continued.
He couldn't help but hear the worried note in her voice, and as she walked around to come stand beside the coffee table so that they were face-to-face, he saw the dried tears on her cheeks. Wonderful, so she'd probably had a nightmare. "Then she's probably in the bathroom. Mommies have to use the potty too, ya know."
"The bathroom door is locked."
That made the Joker pause. Harley hadn't locked the door to the bathroom since having Melody. The little girl used to fuss whenever her mother was out of sight for even a moment, so she'd taken to leaving the door open. The Joker had said she was being too soft on her, that the only way she'd learn was if someone had the guts to tell her that she wouldn't always have her way. That was perhaps the only argument they'd had that he hadn't actually won.
Which begged the question - why was Harley in the bathroom with the door locked?
The Joker rose to his feet, news program suddenly forgotten. He started for the stairs, not even bothering to see whether or not his daughter was behind him. Once upstairs, he found the door to their bedroom wide open - the door to the en-suite bathroom shut tight. The radio was blaring, but even that did not disguise the sound of the water running. Steam poured out from underneath the door.
He tried the knob, only to find it locked, like the child had said. "Harley?" There was no answer. "This isn't a god damn joke, Harls! If I have to bust down this door, you're gonna be real sorry."
He heard a pathetic whimper and rolled his eyes - so the kid had followed him up after all. Wonderful. When there was silence for several more minutes, he sighed, "You've got to the count of three, Harls! If you don't open this fucking door, your face will be mince meat!"
Nothing. He didn't even bother giving her the full three count. He kicked down the door, only to pause as the steam cleared and revealed his girl's motionless body in the tub. The Joker's favorite switchblade dangled from her hand, her other, bloodied arm floating limply in the water. Her head lolled to the side, the bruises from earlier now fully formed on her pale skin...
She'd taped a note onto the bathroom mirror, which he recognized to be the lyrics of the song...
I started a joke, which started the whole world crying...
But I didn't see that the joke was on me, oh no.
'Till I finally died, which started the whole world living...
Oh, if I'd only seen that the joke was on me.
"Harley? Harley, baby, come on... wake up..." He knelt by her side, lightly smacking her face to try and get her to return to consciousness. "Oh God, Harley, what did you do?" He lifted her out of the water, trying to feel for a pulse.
"M-Mommy?" The Joker turned back, looking at the sobbing child standing in the doorway. "Daddy, what's wrong with Mommy?"
A/N: Well, there's the Intro. Let me know what you think and if it's worth continuing. This story will feature both Harley/Joker and Harley/Dead Shot.